


Amor Fati

by BladesAndSwords



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I, Dark Souls III
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Everyone Needs Therapy, Gen, Other, especially Oscar, send help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-22 15:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 43
Words: 253,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22785493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BladesAndSwords/pseuds/BladesAndSwords
Summary: At Northern Undead Asylum, Oscar of Astora and the Undead he freed meet their true fates.Fates that perhaps were not the same Destiny had intended for either of them, nor the one Oscar had in mind for himself.
Comments: 288
Kudos: 58





	1. Dark musings follow a Failed Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea in my head for a while but I finally brought myself to write it. I know it's not the most original concept regarding Oscar's character, but what can I say? I like this very unlucky knight a lot haha. This will be a two-shot fic btw. I'll try to write the continuation soon.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy the chapter!

"Wait. There's something else I want to tell you."

Oscar tried to reach one of his arms towards the other Undead in a desperate attempt to catch their attention.

Despite his efforts, his arm remained anchored to his side. The weight of his sword and shield, usually so natural and easy to handle, had become too heavy for him to move, let alone lift.

His movements passed unseen and his voice remained unheard. All Oscar could do was to lie still on the pile of rubble under him and watch how the Undead abandoned the cell.

They didn't give Oscar even something of a second glance over their shoulder.

A second later, they were gone, onward to their own personal adventure, one where Oscar no longer had a role to play.

A sad smile appeared on Oscar's lips from behind his helmet.

Was it childish of him to take offense at the coldness the other Undead had shown to him?

Why should they care about him?

Why should Oscar mean anything to them?

Oscar had freed them from their eternal confinement, but there had been no comraderie or sympathy behind the act. Oscar had simply done so out of duty to himself and to the prophecy he and his family believed to be true.

Not once had Oscar stopped to consider the emotions or interests of the other Undead.

Not once had he felt guilty for burdening them with such a dreadful fate.

A fate that, no matter how horrible and cruel, Oscar had always hoped would be his in the end.

He had freed as many Undead as possible as some sort of failsafe in case he failed his mission and his journey was cut short. It had been a tactic, a cunning and sensible strategy born from the mind of an elite knight of Astora, and yet, Oscar had never fathomed that such possibility would ever become his reality.

_I am the chosen Undead. Me, and no one else. This was my fate... at least, that's what I have always believed, but now, look at me. Hollowing just a few days after I embarked on my journey as an Undead. Defeated after my first encounter with a powerful enemy. Crushed before my quest could truly begin. Dying and hollowing alone in this pit's very bottom. Wasted, lost, without a purpose._

He laughed under his breath. A sharp pain emerged from the center of his chest.

_Fateless._

The Hollowing process had started. He could feel it spreading from his heart to the rest of his body like a blight.

Oscar clenched his jaw, trying to contain an upcoming scream, but he soon discovered the effort was unnecessary.

He didn't have the strength necessary to scream, no matter how much his body demanded it. His pain and feelings, whether he wanted or not, would have to remain trapped within himself.

_Why? What did I ever do to deserve this fate?_

Eventually, the pain ceased, or perhaps it remained, and his body had simply become numb to it.

Oscar could only wonder.

After a small moment of pause that brought him little rest, his scattered thoughts wandered back to the other Undead he had saved.

A dark feeling sprouted from his rotting heart.

_Ungrateful bastard._

Oscar's teeth chattered. The hatred he felt towards the other Undead was as sudden as it was warm and comforting, almost like the flame of a bonfire.

Then, he heard it.

The distant echoes of clashing metal and crumbling stone mixed with the grotesque roars of a demon, the same beast that had reduced Oscar to his pathetic current state.

He laughed again. The aftertaste of his jealousy was not bitter, but sweet and tasty.

_That demon will kill you. You will die and go hollow, you useless fool. You are not the Chosen One; freeing you was a waste of my time. You are a failure... and knowing your journey will be as short as mine fills my soul with nothing but joy. I'm glad you failed, I'm glad that creature will destroy you; and if he doesn't, then I will._

The battle carried on.

Before he knew it, Oscar found himself cheering for the demon. If that monstrosity succeeded in killing the other Undead, then he would forgive the creature for what it had done to him.

He may even feel eternal gratitude towards it.

_Yes... if the demon fails to kill you, then I'll do it myself. Once I go Hollow, I'll hunt you down, I promise! Damned thief of my fate, you could never be the Chosen One. The Chosen One is me... ME! And if I can't be it, then no one else can! Let this world rot in everlasting darkness! I don't care! I—_

His thoughts met a sudden end when the scream of the Undead resonated in his ears in the form of an agonizing cry.

It cleansed Oscar's heart and thoughts from the whirlwind of bleak emotions that had plagued him.

The hatred, the jealousy, the resentment... all of them disappeared and were replaced by a paralyzing sense of lucidity.

The evil smirk painted on his mouth shattered. Oscar cracked his lips open in disbelief.

"No." Oscar looked up to the hole in the roof where fading rays of light infiltrated the room and showered his entire body. "No, this cannot be. You can't be dead."

He waited in despair for the voice of the other Undead to reach him again, but everything was silent. Even the monster had gone quiet as well.

Had they killed each other in battle?

Oscar refused the possibility, but the unbreakable silence soon proved his hopes wrong.

"Please." Oscar sharpened his hearing, but he caught only the rythmic sound of droplets of water falling from the roof and the soft blow of the wind racing through the asylum's corridors. Of the other Undead there was no sign. "Don't do this to me."

He waited.

No sound ever came to him.

"This isn't true." Oscar muttered. Grief formed a painful lump in his throat and tears escaped from his eyes. "You said you would carry on my quest in my name. I gave you my last Estus Flask as sign of my faith in you. You promised me you would get out of this infernal place and fulfill the prophecy. Dying and Hollowing here is my fate, not yours, you hear me? This is not your fate!"

A coughing fit punished Oscar. A stream of blood surging from the corner of his mouth mixed with the tears dropping from his chin.

"I..."

For a moment, his Hollowing stopped. It was perhaps nothing more than a delusion, but to Oscar, it felt real.

Amidst his grief for the untimely demise of the other Undead, guilt found its place in his heart and forced Oscar to remember how unjust and cruel he had been; of how he had no right to cry the person he had envied to the point where he had wished for their death.

 _That wasn't me, it was the Hollowing. I never would have betrayed them if it wasn't for this curse spreading over my body._ _I would have never opposed them because of some petty feeling like envy. That's not the kind of man I —_

He couldn't finish.

It wasn't that he had no energy or sanity left in his mind to do so.

The reason for his self-censuring was simpler.

It didn't matter if he tried to deny it, Oscar knew the truth.

He was lying.

_That's not true. It was not the Hollowing which put those thoughts in my head._

His sword and shield escaped his hands.

_It simply set them free. My true self...the jealous, resentful, traitorous man I am deep down. The man I become when my conviction is put to the test. The man that could have succumbed to darkness and opposed you in a blind fit of envy had we both made it out of this place, my friend._

Oscar rested his head against his bed of cold stone.

The Hollowing reassumed its work on his body. Oscar didn't fight against it.

He closed his eyes once more, knowing that the next time he would open them, he would be merely an empty shell corrupted by despair and driven by madness.

_I see it now. A man like me could never have been the Chosen One, but perhaps, a person like you could have. You listened to my request, you accepted the burden of my fate, you gave me hope when I had none._

What had Oscar said to the Undead back then?

If he remembered correctly, he had thanked them for allowing him to die with hope in his heart.

"Nothing but a lie." Oscar said, using the last of the air remaining inside his lungs.

_I failed. Gwyn's fire will not be linked again. My quest was nothing but a fool's errand. Nothing I did ever mattered; it was all in vain._

The cold embrace of the Hollowing dug its nails on his back and pierced his skin. It was only a matter of minutes before Oscar lost himself to it.

_Were failure and oblivion my fate all along? Were they your fate too, my friend?_

Madness started to erase every trace of his old self to give place to the new being Oscar was destined to become.

Oscar made one futile attempt to keep his ideas coherent, but they slipped through his fingers like sand.

The only thing that he could hang on to was the memory of the other Undead's back as they had exited the cell.

Though the image had formerly caused him pain, now it brought him bittersweet comfort.

_Oh, that's right. There was something else I wanted to tell you, but you left before I could do so. Something tells me you had a tendency to leave others talking to themselves._

Oscar's lips moved. Meeting his cursed fate with a smile felt like a victory, no matter how insignificant or small.

_My name. Oscar of Astora. I wanted you to remember me as something more than a mere Elite Knight, but our fates would not have it so. That's fine, I'm not worthy of being remembered at all, but you were, Chosen Undead. I wish...I knew... your name..._

Oscar heard a fainting sound.

He ignored it.

It couldn't be real.

And even if it was, it meant nothing to him.

He was Hollow, and so was the other Undead.

That was their reality.

Everything else were simply the insane delusions of a lost soul.

A soul that had once gone by the name of Oscar.

_I wish...you hadn't met..._

A soul that had once aspired to greatness.

_...the same fate as me._

A soul that now was hollow.


	2. Our gratitude, our hate and our fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for reading and the kudos!
> 
> So, I know I said this would be a two-shot, but I think there will be 3-4 chaters after all. And to think I originally planned this as an one-shot haha.
> 
> Enjoy!

Oscar woke up.

Being Hollow felt no different than being alive.

His thoughts, his emotions, even the pain of his broken body., everything remained the same.

He stood still and silent in disbelief.

Was that all there was to Hollowing?

Was that really the state of existence every Undead feared?

Such an unfounded and ridiculous superstition.

Disappointment simmered inside him together with another emotion.

Betrayal.

Oscar was no stranger to it. In the forsaken land of the Undead, no one was. It was a hard lesson that every Undead had to experience sooner or later. It came in many forms.

Sometimes, betrayal came in the form of comrades that backstabbed their friends the moment they no longer were of any use to them.

Other times, betrayal manifested as strangers that lured innocent fools to their deaths with honeyed and playful words that concealed their dark intentions.

Above all, betrayal found its way through the uncaring attitude of the gods towards their people, for it was not uncommon to see the most jolly of believers or the most faithful of followers lose themselves to despair when they realized their efforts would never amount to anything and their prayers would always go unanswered.

In all these shapes, Oscar knew betrayal, but he had never felt as betrayed by anything or anyone than by his own Hollowing.

Why had it not driven him to madness?

Why had it not forced him to forget all about himself and succumb to his lowest instincts?

Why was he still aware of his reality?

His gloved fingers scratched the rocky ground.

As scared and regretful as he had been as his Hollowing overcame him, deep down, Oscar had also wished that his new existence would free him from all his earthly burdens.

His failures, his regrets, his fate, none of it would matter once he had gone Hollow. It wouldn't be because Oscar would have come to terms with the mistakes of his previous life.

No, overcoming defeat and moving on was a skill exclusive to the living and a few Undead, those whose wills were adamant enough to keep going no matter how many times they died.

Hollows had a different fate.

Through the eyes of a broken man, such fate was superior to the endless fighting that plagued those who never surrendered.

Madness, and the peace that came with it, even if it was just a pale imitation of the real thing.

Oscar had always considered those ideas to be little more than the senseless blabber of crestfallen warriors and sullen commoners, but when he found himself at the brink of his final death after the loss of the fate he had coveted all his life, he had begun to understand the meaning and wisdom behind those words.

After all, a mad being without a purpose or the sanity necessary to care about its situation was also exempt from all types of suffering.

Hollows did not care about the futility of their existence or the uselessness of their actions; they merely existed as the brainless creatures they had been reduced to.

The hate and despair that guided them couldn't hurt them, not when they were no longer able to understand where those sentiments came from or what they meant to them.

They couldn't ponder endlessly on those feelings as the living and the Undead did.

To Hollows, they were the fuel that drove them to attack, destroy, harm and kill, nothing else.

It was a pathetic existence, but also a painless one. If Oscar thought about it, he could see a grotesque beauty in its simplicity.

It was a lot more than what Oscar could say about the life and fate of any Undead, and especially his own.

"Is this my true fate?" Oscar asked. His voice took him aback; it once had been soft and soothing, now, it was so guttural and hoarse than it was more akin to the growl of an animal.

It repulsed him, and made him wonder how dreadful his appearance was.

_Not that it matters now. Perhaps this new appearance is a blessing. The next foolish knight that ventures into this place will not hesitate to kill me the moment he sees me. I wouldn't stop him. Who knows? I think he would be doing me a favor._

An answer he hadn't expected came to him.

Oscar tensed his entire body the moment he heard the screech of rusty metal coming from his left side.

His faced turned by instinct towards it. The touch of soil on his cheek and the clear sight of burning fire made Oscar realize his face was naked.

_My helmet._

How he had lost it was a question Oscar couldn't answer. As hazy as his memories before his Hollowing were, he could swear on his honor that he had died with his face covered.

Before he could continue to ponder about his missing piece of armor, Oscar became more intrigued about the bonfire that slowly continued to heal his damaged body.

He had no memory of lighting it. Oscar had been so immersed in trying to kickstart the prophecy that he had forgotten about the most basic precaution to survive in that doomed land.

A shameful mistake, one that would have earned him the scorn and ridicule of every other Undead.

_No, it wasn't that I forgot._

Oscar thought, looking up to the roof in search of the rays of light piercing through the hole he had created after the demon had sent him flying with a single swing of its hammer.

He found only untouched stone covered with cobwebs and leaks of rotting water.

_I thought lighting it would be unnecessary. I never imagined I would die and hollow here. My fate was to escape this place and become the Chosen One. Who else if not me, a skilled and brave elite knight of Astora, was worthy of the title? What a blind and prideful fool I was._

A shadowy silhouette hidden behind the other side of fire stood up, its movements preceded again by the clanky whisper of its armor.

Oscar clenched his fists and tried to move, but his body, while slightly recovered, was still in no condition to fight or flee.

His heart thumped inside his chest as the Hollow approached him.

Or was it an Undead?

For all Oscar knew, it could be one of the many he had freed from their cells.

A bitter chuckle drowned inside his throat.

_That would be a fitting fate for a loser such as me. A fate that repeats itself endlessly in a loop of failure and death. What a meaningless existence my life is, what a wasteful burden to bear. I despise my fate, but what does my hate matter? It's all over, and whatever existence I am forced to endure after this one, I'm sure it will be just as cursed. End my life then, fellow Hollow, and pray that I fade into oblivion for good._

Oscar closed his eyes just as the figure stopped next of him, looming over him and casting its shadow over his chest.

Silently, Oscar took a final breath and braced himself for the lethal blow, whether it came as a stab in the heart, a swing to his neck or a crushing blow to his skull.

He had resigned himself to his fate and found numbness, if not peace.

For Hollows like him, fortune didn't get any kinder.

Oscar tried to find sanctuary in happier memories of his life one last time.

His childhood, his family, his fellow knights, but they were all phantoms that disappeared when he tried to reach them.

The Hollowing had taken them away from him forever.

_Am I not allowed even this small comfort?_

The sound of the other's armor echoed through the cell, followed by the thump of its knees resting on the floor.

_Why, gods?_

Oscar flinched at the touch of a gloved hand on his forehead. He knew what would follow.

The other Hollow would pull his head back to expose his neck completely, and then, Oscar would feel the sharp bite of steel as his throat was slit open.

_I know I failed, I know I am not a perfect man, perhaps not even a good one, but I always tried my best. I persevered, I lived as honorably as possible. I always knew the darkness would end and a new age of fire would come. My faith never wavered until now. Why, then? Lord Gwyn... how did I ever offend you? Why do you punish me with this cursed fate? Please, answer me. I beg of you._

"You're awake. It was about time."

Oscar's eyes opened against his will. He found a face of rotting flesh staring at him. The image was dreadful, but to Oscar, it felt godsent.

Sadly, his relief was short-lived.

"You." Oscar grabbed the Undead's wrist. "But... you died and went Hollow. The demon, it defeated you. It—"

"It's gone, and I'm still here." The other Undead answered, freeing their hand from Oscar's grasp. They searched inside a dirty bag tied to the hip of their recently acquired broken armor, probably a souvenir of a defeated Hollow, and took out an Estus Flask.

The same Oscar had given to them during what had supposedly been their final farewell.

"Drink."

"Why? Why are you still here?" Oscar said harshly. "The prophecy... it will not begin until you leave this place. Forget about me. Our fates are different, mine is to perish here, yours is to live and link the fire. You promised me, remember? Or does your word have no value at all?"

"Drink."

"Fool. You defeated the demon; you survived your first ordeal. You journey has just begun." His words came loaded with anger. "Don't you dare put everything at risk now."

_Not for me, not me. I would never forgive myself if…_

"You talk too much." With little gentleness, the other Undead put a hand behind Oscar's head and lifted it. They then put the Estus Flask so close to his mouth that Oscar could feel a few drops of the elixir soaking his lips. "Now drink."

Oscar mustered all the strength left in his broken body and slapped the Estus Flask away from his face with a violent swing of his arm.

It was a miracle the flask didn't escape the Undead and crashed against the floor.

Somehow, Oscar could see shock and offense form in the empty eyeholes of the Undead. Shame almost drove him to apologize, but he had no time for formalities.

Every second the Undead passed in his presence was an invitation for Oscar to kill them. He was now Hollow, he could lose control at any moment.

If he did, then everything both him and the Undead had accomplished so far would have been for nothing.

_No, I won't let you do this to either of us._

Oscar straightened his back. His belly burned as if it was covered with red irons. The sea of blood that once had been his insides protested against his efforts and punished him for his sudden movements.

A warm surge of blood rushed up his throat. Oscar coughed it up messily after almost choking on it.

His arms trembled as his strength faltered. The Other Undead held Oscar with their free hand before his head could crash against the ground.

Then, they helped him into his knees and continued to aid Oscar as he, with both his hands shaking as they struggled to endure his weight, vomited what seemed to be a ceaseless stream of blood.

"Idiot. You should have drunk." The other Undead said to Oscar as they helped him rest his back against the cell's wall, as closely to the bonfire as possible. "You're too stupid to be a knight. Your homeland must have low standards."

"How dare you insult—" Oscar said in between gasps. Before he knew it, the Undead emptied half the Estus Flask inside his mouth and forced him to swallow.

The cure worked instantly. Oscar felt how the burning pain from his destroyed insides began to vanish, as did the sharp sting of his torn muscles and broken bones.

"It worked." The other Undead said with faint amusement. "Knights are so predictable. Here, drink the rest."

Oscar glared at the Undead, his lips tightly sealed. It was embarrassing enough he had fallen for a trick so cheap once.

He wouldn't allow it to happen again.

Realizing Oscar would not drink even a single drop more, the Undead sighed heavily and put the Estus Flask away in their bag.

They sat next to Oscar and looked at the fire. "Suit yourself. Let's wait for the bonfire to heal you then. It could take a while"

The Undead looked at Oscar, but the knight rejected the contact and moved his head in the opposite direction.

They spent a long while with only the sizzling sound of embers as their company. While the Undead seemed to be hypnotized by the dancing flames, Oscar kept his eyes fixed on the wall.

He didn't dare to look away from it. It was as if his whole world would crumble if he did.

"Your sword and your shield. They're over there, and so is your helmet." The Undead said.

Oscar didn't answer, nor he gave the Undead any signs of having heard them.

He noticed a forced friendliness in the Undead's tone. They were trying their best to initiate a casual conversation, perhaps in an attempt to ease the tension between them and Oscar.

Sadly for them, the result was the complete opposite, and Oscar's anger towards them continued to grow stronger, though not as much as it grew against himself.

"Forgive me if I offended you by removing your helmet, but I had no choice. I had to make sure the Humanity I infused you with was stopping your Hollowing. It worked, but not totally."

A kick in the teeth wouldn't have been more effective. Oscar hid his eyes behind his hand.

_I see, so you are the reason my Hollowing wasn't completed. You robbed me of my fate yet again...and what's worse, you wasted one precious Humanity in someone like me. You damned fool. Look at you, you should have used it on yourself._

"It's alright." The Undead said, resting their hand on Oscar's shoulder. "Half your face still looks hollow, and your voice is damaged, but you're still here, that's all that matters."

Oscar jerked his shoulder, forcing the Undead's hand off him.

"Your concern for me is meaningless." Oscar said, still refusing to look at the Undead in the face. "I neither need it nor appreciate it. Get out of here, I don't want to be in your presence any longer. It sickens me to know I have entrusted the fate of the world to a moron like you. Leave and never return."

"Sure, I'll leave. " The Undead replied. "And you're coming with me."

"I'm not. You have your fate, and I have mine."

_A fate too important to let it go to waste because of me. Please._

"I know."

"So go now."

"No."

"Then I'll kill you."

With a brusque movement only enabled by the combined healing of the Estus Flask and the bonfire, Oscar faced the Undead and grabbed them by the neck with the same hand he had used to cover his eyes.

The Undead's rotting face showed no emotion as Oscar's fingers became warped around their neck. Seeing the Undead's face corrupted while his was healed, even if just partially, made Oscar's heart sunk to his feet.

_Look at you. You should have used that Humanity on yourself, not me. Had our roles been reversed, I..._

Guilt stopped being a concept and became a physical burden so heavy that Oscar feared it would crush him until nothing but the dust of his bones remained.

He couldn't continue with his Hollow charade. Oscar's fingers slipped from the Undead's neck; his hand fell to the floor.

Oscar stared at it, not daring to look at the Undead's face any longer.

"Why?" Oscar didn't know how he kept his tears at bay, but he was grateful for it. He had already made a fool of himself too many times for a lifetime. "Why did you come back for me? I didn't ask you to save me."

"It's true. You didn't." The Undead nodded.

Oscar felt no trace of anger towards him from their part.

"Then why? Why you did it?" Oscar's voice trembled, making him sound like a demon.

"I could ask you the same about me."

Oscar laughed. It was the first heartfelt sound that came from his body in a long time, and yet, it felt cruel and condescending.

"Do you think I saved you? You think I freed you from your cell because I felt sorry for you?" Oscar said, directing a piercing glare to the Undead. "I care not about you at all. You were merely one of the many Undead I freed in case I failed. You were a failsafe, a plan B. You mean nothing to me as a person."

"I see. Still, you saved me. Now I'll return the favour to you, whether you want it or not."

"Are you listening to me? Or is your brain as rotten as your face and you can't understand my words?"

"Mock me if you want. Come," the Undead stood up. They offered their hand to Oscar, "let's get out of here. If you have the strength to argue, then you have the strength to walk. I'll help you."

"I hate you." Oscar hissed at them. "I wish you had gone Hollow after that demon killed you."

The Undead winced, their hand slightly retreating.

It was working. Oscar didn't wait for an answer. He knew he had to be relentless and inject as much venom as he could into his words

"That's all I could think about as I died after you left me behind to fight that monster. If you had Hollowed, then maybe my own Hollowing wouldn't have started in the first place. Somehow, I would have found a way to cure myself and leave this place so that I could be the Chosen One. It is not the injuries that demon inflicted on me which almost turned me Hollow, it was you. All of this is your fault. You robbed me of my fate, you left my heart devoid of hope, and for that, I hate you more than you can imagine, foul thief."

Oscar spat at their feet. The vulgar gesture came out more naturally than he intended, and he wondered how much he had faked it, if he had at all.

_Do you see now? I'm not worth saving. Please, leave me. I don't want to move on anymore. I just want to disappear. That's my fate._

"I hate you too."

Oscar's heart went numb for a second. The Undead clenched the hand they had offered him.

"I never asked you to free me. I had already accepted my fate to remain forever trapped in that rotting cell until the end of time came. It was a meaningless life, but also uneventful... and so much better than the living hell that is the outside world; but then you came and changed everything. You set me on a path I didn't choose, and I hate you so much for it."

The Undead trembled from head to toe. Oscar kept quiet, bitting his tongue and trying to endure the guilt festering inside him.

"The Chosen One? The prophecy? The bells? Gwyn's fire? I wanted none of it. I had given up on this world. It is not worth living in it, and it's definitely not worth saving."

Oscar wish he could tear his ears off.

If the Undead noticed the despair they were inflicting on the fallen knight, they didn't care. They kept going, making Oscar believe they did so out of a twisted form of revenge against him.

"All I wanted was to remain here until I Hollowed... and I almost succeded." The Undead fixed the black holes they had for eyes on Oscar. "Had you arrived a second later, you would not have found an Undead capable of thought, but a crazed Hollow lusting for destruction. I was so close to fulfilling my true fate, but your appearance lighted a spark of hope in my heart. It was feeble, but somehow, it was all I needed to keep my Hollowing at bay, whether I wanted it or not. You saved me, and I hate you for it, just as much as you hate me for coming back for you."

"If you hate me so much for stopping your Hollowing, why did you—"

"Because we were wrong." The Undead replied. "This place is not our grave, knight. Dying and Hollowing is not our fate. For so many years, I convinced myself of the opposite, and yet, it took only your fleeting appearance to make those thoughts go away. I realized that maybe even a lowly Undead without memories or a past like me could still have a purpose, if I just dared to walk the path you had set for me. So yes, I hate you for setting me free on this world of misery I sought to escape, I hate you for proving my beliefs wrong, I hate you for robbing me of the fate I had chosen for myself… but my hate is nothing compared to how grateful I am to you for this new chance at life you gave me, even if that was not your intention and I mean nothing to you."

The Undead's voice broke. Before Oscar could say anything, they went to a corner.

They returned to Oscar's side with all of his equipment. The Undead carried his sword and shield on their back.

They knelt next to Oscar, and offered him his helmet, the only missing part of his armour.

Oscar couldn't accept it, not when all his energy was spent on trying to contain his tears.

He failed miserbly, just like he had done so many times before in his life.

"Please, elite knight, let me return the favour." The Undead said, gently setting the helmet on Oscar's head, maybe sensing the shame the knight's tears caused him. Then, they offered him their hand again. "You've done so much for me, more than you imagine. Let me get you out of this place, alright? It's the least this lowly Undead can do for you."

Oscar had always felt safe behind the privacy of his helmet. Now, the shelter it offered him didn't help him feel any less pathetic.

He lifted his hand, trembling, unsure of what he was doing. A thousand questions fluttered in his mind.

Was it right for him to be saved?

The prophecy spoke of only one Undead escaping... what would be the consequences if two did instead?

Who would be the Chosen One?

Him, or the other?

What would they have to do to prove themselves worthy?

What would Oscar be capable of?

Oscar knew the answer.

He knew what lengths he would go to make himself worthy of the title. If his aborted Hollowing had taken away precious memories from him, it had also granted Oscar something valuable in return: a truth about himself he would have never discovered otherwise.

No, he wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't let himself turn into a green-eyed monster hungry for glory, no more than he already was.

It was settled.

Oscar would remain in the Asylum, and the Undead he had freed would—

"You sure like to take your time." The Undead said with a trace of friendly mockery. They grabbed Oscar's arm and drapped it around their shoulders. They secured him by getting a firm grasp on Oscar's wrist and holding him by the waist with their other hand. "Let's get you back on your feet. Are you ready?"

"I'm not coming with—"

"Here we go."

"Wait." Oscar didn't have time to prepare. He gave out a wheezing grunt of pain as his legs and damaged insides stung under the weight of his armor.

Though the Undead carried most of his weight on their shoulders, keeping himself on his feet was a harder task than Oscar had imagined.

He rested his free hand against the wall, breathing mouthfuls of the Asylum's musky air. They came together with the bubbling echo of the blood still trapped in his throat.

Oscar coughed it out, almost losing his balance each time he arched his stomach.

"I'm sorry, perhaps I was too brusque." The Undead said. "Are you alright?"

Oscar gave a last violent cough as an answer, causing a few drops of blood to escape through the slots of his helmet.

"Easy." The Undead said as Oscar struggled to catch his breath. They let go of his waist and hastily looked inside their bag. "Rubbish, a pebble, an arrow... here it is! No, wait, that's just another pebble. Damn, why is that flask so hard to find every time I need it?"

"Leave it, I'm fine." Oscar said in between gasps. "My injuries are not lethal anymore. Save the cure for later, I don't need it right now."

"Dont be stupid. We can always refill the flask as long as the bonfire—"

"I know, but everytime we do so, the enemies we both defeated so far may return." Oscar insisted strictly. "Let's not push our luck. We need to get out of here now."

´ _We´? Have I so easily accepted it? Am I so eager to get another chance at being the Chosen One that I would allow this Undead to save me? Even after I know what I would be capable of? I truly have no shame._

"Very well." The Undead said with little conviction. Just when Oscar felt he needed to instruct them further, the Undead returned their hand to his waist and helped him walk.

Their pace was slow and clumsy. Sweeps of pain traveled through Oscar's body with every step he took.

He tried to keep his grunts silent, but from time to time, one escaped him in the form of a drowned scream.

Each time, the Undead stopped, allowing Oscar as much time as he needed before they could continue. They also used those brief breaks to steady their hold on Oscar.

From behind his helmet, Oscar looked at his fellow Undead. His eyes, still red from the tears he had shed, became misty again at the sight of the other.

_You are tired too. Your battle with that demon left you weak and you still haven't recovered. Do you think I don't notice? I can feel it in your steps, I can hear it in your breathing, I can smell it in your sweat... but still, here you are. Burdening yourself with a dead weight like me. Fate must have been in a jesting mood when it decided I would be entrusting the fate of this land to you, the most foolish Undead in all of Lordran. Unless I—_

Again those instrusive dark thoughts. Oscar casted them away from his mind, but their mark remained.

"Listen to me." Oscar said, his knees trembling. "Please."

The Undead pulled his arm, relieving Oscar of as much of his weight as they could. A small smile appeared on the wrinkled corner of their mouth. "No. You talk too much. Save it for when we are out of this place. You can lecture me all you want then; or you can insult me too. You seem to be fond of it."

"I'll betray you."

The Undead's smile wavered. More than fear or shock, it was confusion which painted their corrupted face.

"I don't understand."

"If we both make an exodus from this place, either of us could be the Chosen One. The prophecy cannot be changed or challenged...in the end, one of us would have to die so that the other could fulfill their fate and link Gwyn's fire." Oscar spoke calmly, as if he was talking to a friend about the most trivial of matters, even if the digust he felt towards himself increased with every word. "I've wanted nothing more in my entire life than to have such purpose. I've trained, fought and suffered endless trials to become the knight I needed to be so I could be worthy of the title."

The Undead listened in silence. Oscar made a short pause, in hopes they would have something to say.

After receiving nothing, he continued.

"Just as I gave you another chance at life, if you save me now, you'll be giving me another chance to take back the fate I thought lost, and I will not hesitate to fight for it, no matter the cost."

The Undead remained quiet.

_Say something. Leave me behind. Kill me. Make me go Hollow. Say something... do something! Please, your silence is more than I can bear._

"You're not saving your generous friend, you are freeing your envious rival. Your enemy."

"I see."

Always with the dry answers. Had Oscar been in better shape, he probably would have punched the Undead in the face.

Instead, he laughed without humor.

"Now you know."

"Indeed."

"What will you do?" Oscar asked them.

"The answer is obvious."

"I see." Oscar didn't blame them. He would have done the same. "Know that my heart is free of any resentment towards you. I wish you luck in your journey. Oh, before you go, there is something I wanted to tell you. "

_My name._

"I'm—"

"You see? You talk too much." The Undead reassumed their march. Oscar couldn't stop them. "Like I told you, save it for later. We are close to the entrance now."

"But," Oscar tried to move his arm, but the Undead's grasp on his wrist was as strong as a shackle, "why?"

"Because you haven't betrayed me yet."

"But I will, I know it in my heart."

"And why are you so sure?"

"Because that's who I am. If we both survive, betraying you will be my fate."

"Fate." The Undead snorted. "If fate has proven to be anything today is that it is as fickle as a goddess' purity."

"But—"

"Enough." The Undead said firmly. "Maybe your fate is to betray me after all. Maybe I'll kill you first, maybe we'll both die and the prophecy will be lost forever. Don't misunderstand, I don't know tomorrow any better than you do, knight. I don't know what my ultimate fate is, but... I know that wasting my existance away in this place, feeling sorry for myself, hiding from the outside world like I did for so long is not it."

"So instead of fighting for the fate you would wish for yourself, you struggle to avoid the fate you dread."

"It seems that way."

"You are a fool. Then again," Oscar took a step foward. His helmet concealed a soft smile, "so am I."

The Undead nodded and continued to support Oscar.

_Maybe I could do the same. If I can't be the Chosen One, maybe... I can try my best to become your ally and not your enemy. That's the fate I want for myself now. It's not much, but it's not nothing. That's good enough for me._

"Oscar. Oscar of Astora."

"What?"

Oscar turned his face towards the Undead.

"My name."

"Oh, I see. My name is..." The Undead's face darkened. They let go of Oscar's waist to open the Asylum's gates. "I don't remember."

"That's alright." Oscar replied, slightly regretting bringing up the subject. "I'm sorry if I caused you offense."

"You didn't. I have only myself to blame for the loss of my name." They kept on walking. They were almost at the edge of the cliff. "Thank you for sharing your name with me, knight… Oscar. I only wish I could do the same."

"Maybe I could call you Chosen Undead in the meanwhile. You know, to keep you motivated and focused on your potential fate."

The Undead laughed under their breath.

"Yes." The Undead smiled. "I think I'd like—"

They never got to finish.

A whistling arrow made sure to silence the other Undead for good when it pierced their throat from behind.

Oscar could only catch a brief glimpse of the rain of tendons and putrid blood that came sporuting from the Undead's wound before they crashed against the floor.

An explosion of pain emerged from his belly, but Oscar didn't feel it. His injuries were mere trivialities.

All that mattered to him now was the inert body lying next to him as a crimson puddle melted the snow underneath them.

"No!" Oscar reached his hand towards the Undead.

As furious as he was scared, Oscar rested his hands on the floor and looked over his shoulder.

Dozens of Hollows, armed to the teeth with bows, swords, axes and torches infested the Asylum walls.

He recognized most of them, not because he had met them in life.

They were the same many Undeads he had freed.

All of them have failed, all of them had Hollowed.

"How can this be?" Oscar muttered as a hoard of Hollows emerged from the Asylum's doors. One of them, their leader, held the bonfire's scorched sword in its hand as a trophy.

Oscar looked at the other Undead. He crawled to their side and held them in his arms.

_Is this..._

The herd of frenzied Hollows roared in unison before charging at them like a stampede.

Oscar didn't care.

In his mind, only one incomplete thought lingered.

_...our fate?_


	3. Snow melts under rotten blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for reading and the kudos. Also thanks to Aa and Skeever_404 for the comments. I'm happy you are enjoying the story so far! I hope you like this new chapter!

"Keep staring at the sky all you want; you'll never get a decent view of the sun in this place. We get no more than a few distant rays and their poor warmth."

"Have a little faith, friend. The sun always rises, no matter how long it takes."

The crestfallen warrior looked at the jolly knight. He had maintained the same ridiculous Y shaped posture for what felt like an eternity.

He let out a bitter chuckle. In another time, he might have found the knight's devotion amusing, inspiring even.

In another time, he may have shared the knight's optimism.

He would have allowed himself to believe that, if he persevered, things would change for the better, and perhaps, as impossible as it seemed, hope would prevail in the end, and the sun would indeed shine down on Firelink Shrine.

The thought embittered his mood.

Had he ever truly been as naïve and foolish as the sun praising knight?

His many deaths had tarnished his memories, but hidden deep within himself, the crestfallen warrior could see the fading shadow of his past self. He gazed at it and felt nothing but disgust and shame.

His acrid feelings transferred to the knight and transformed his annoyance towards him into disdain.

He wanted the knight gone.

The crestfallen warrior didn't care what became of the hopeful idiot, not as long as it meant he would disappear from his sight for good.

"If you are so eager to praise your beloved sun," the warrior spoke, dragging the words as he stared into the bonfire's flame, "I recommend you go somewhere else. The Undead Parish is a good choice, you may find an altar for you to praise to your heart's content... if you are brave or stupid enough to venture into that infected site in the first place."

_And something tells me you are both._

The warrior snorted.

_Just like I was so, so long ago. Countless deaths cured me of my idiocy; if you are lucky, the same will happen to you. Who knows? Perhaps by sending you into a path of failure, I'd be doing you a favor._

His words must have moved something inside the knight, for soon he dropped his arms to his sides and turned around. The crestfallen warrior could feel the weight of the knight's eyes on him.

"Oh dear, I must be truly annoying you if you want me gone so badly." The knight said without losing his friendly tone. "I am sorry you find me so irritating, but I assure you that there's no need to be so sour about my presence here, friend. If it is my praising which is offending you, all you had to do was say so. I know well not everyone is fond of it. If I died each time someone tells me how silly I look while praising the sun, I'd have gone Hollow ages ago."

The knight laughed. His voice carried some of the warmth of the living. It was a common trait of those whose transformation into Undead was still fresh.

The crestfallen warrior had heard it many times before. He wondered if he once had sounded the same,

_You foolish neophyte._

The thought almost escaped the warrior's mouth. He held his tongue, and instead, he merely watched as the knight sat down on the ash-covered grass.

Even then, the knight radiated a happy and hopeful energy, and with childish enthusiasm, he kept on looking at the sky filled with grey clouds.

Such attitude did nothing to quench the crestfallen warrior's resentment towards him, but the growing silence between them was enough to keep the peace.

And still, for some reason, the warrior's mind kept on bringing thoughts and questions that would never become words.

_Why did you become Undead, knight? What do you seek to find in this forsaken land? Glory? Power? Wealth? Revenge? Purpose? Your fate? Meaningless, all of it. You'll find nothing here but reality. The cold, cruel reality that all your hopes and efforts are illusions. Oh, you blind fool, you'll pay dearly for your optimism... Just like I did, so long, long ago._

"Because nothing here ever changes. Hollowing is the only thing we Undead can aspire to."

The warrior rested his elbows on his thighs and joined his hands together. He rested his forehead against them.

The warrior stood still, as if he had turned into stone.

The knight looked at him over his shoulder. He had been about to try to start a conversation with the crestfallen warrior, no matter how short it might have been, but he changed his mind after seeing him so lost in thought.

The knight even dared to say the warrior looked as if he was offering a prayer to whatever god he believed in.

While the warrior had showed him little respect during his time of praising, the knight wouldn't reciprocate in the same manner.

That was not the way of the Warriors of the Sunlight, and Undead or not, Solaire was still a proud member.

Nothing would ever change that. He believed it with as much fervor as he believed he would succeed in his quest.

He would find his sun.

He had to.

That had been his sole reason to become Undead.

"I know I will." Solaire said to himself. He removed his helmet before returning his gaze towards the sky. "The sun always rises."

As if rewarding his faith, the sky granted Solaire a small change.

It wasn't the blinding shine of sunlight he had hoped for.

Instead of light, the change came in the form of a shadowy silhouette appearing into the distance. It grew bigger and louder with every passing second.

The high-pitched cries and fluttering sound of flying wings caught the crestfallen warrior's attention as well.

Both him and the knight stared at the upcoming figure.

The crestfallen warrior pondered on what that unexpected change could mean not only for Firelink Shrine, but also to himself.

_Absolutely nothing._

He breathed a heavy sigh and looked away.

The answer didn't disappoint him.

He hadn't expected anything else.

_Nothing will ever change. That is a lesson I learned long, long ago._

* * *

A shower of endless arrows came flying down at them.

Oscar's honed warrior instincts allowed him to act despite his paralyzing grief. Swiftly, he took his shield from the Undead's back and slammed the lower tip against the ground.

The shield became firmly stuck on the soil. Without further thinking, Oscar grabbed the other Undead by the arm and forcefully dragged them together with him behind the improvised barrier. The pain of his injuries, though numbed by adrenaline, became a throbbing presence in Oscar's body, as natural and constant as the beating of his heart but much more distracting.

Oscar did his best to ignore it. Instead, he gathered all his strength and focused on keeping the other Undead as close to him as he could.

The ringing echo of the arrows crashing against the shield filled Oscar's ears and drowned the feral roars of the Hollows.

A fugitive arrow hit Oscar in the elbow, but his armor repelled the projectile before it had the chance to dig deep into his skin and bone. It left behind a pulsating ache; a minor wound Oscar could endure.

Even if the injury had been serious, Oscar would have paid little mind to it. In that moment, his priority was not himself, but the Undead in his arms.

They were still alive.

When Oscar had pulled their body behind the safety of his shield, he had done so out of pure sentimentalism. He didn't want to see the corpse of his friend profaned with the arrows of Hollows.

He hadn't expected the Undead to have any life left inside them, but they had managed to surprise him once more.

Oscar had first heard the life still clinging inside the Undead's body in the form of a wheezing breath. It had been just before the first arrow hit the shield.

The arrow stuck in their throat had reduced the Undead's voice to gasps of bubbling breaths.

The next sign of life they gave Oscar was a faint twitch of their fingers.

Oscar held their hand. The Undead had little reaction to his contact, and Oscar wondered how aware of their situation they truly were.

He wished, for their own sake, that it was little to none.

Deep down, Oscar wished the Undead had died.

If they had, they at least would have been spared of the agony of the next death that awaited them, one so horrible that it was bound to reduce them both to Hollows.

The crazed mob of enemies kept drawing near. It was a matter of seconds before they reached their victims and feasted on them, the same way a starving predator tears apart its living prey limb by limb.

Oscar had no reason to believe the Hollows he had unleashed wouldn't do the same with him and the other Undead.

And yet, that was the kindest scenario he could imagine.

Hollows were savage creatures, unhinged by any moral or emotional shackle, always driven by an unquenchable bloodthirst. They were mindless beasts, but that didn't stop them from being cruel and inventive in their killings.

Oscar had witnessed their wicked deeds before, more times than any man should.

In every occasion, he had tried to save the victims, but they had always perished in his arms. Either because he had been unable to reach them in time and treat their infected wounds properly, or because he had been forced to strike them down himself when, after their last torturous moments as sentient Undeads, they had transformed into Hollows.

_I am an elite knight of Astora._

Oscar held the Undead's hand tighter. The Undead answered the same way.

The knightly side of Oscar's mind spoke to him again.

He had to wield his sword and fight.

But how could he when he could barely stand on his own feet without help?

To make things worse, his enemies were too numerous for him to defeat all by himself.

Perhaps, if he was in better condition, Oscar would have had a decent chance of achieving victory. After all, he was a skilled elite knight of Astora.

_And yet, I...,_

Oscar looked down to the Undead, only to discover the other's pitch-black eye holes were gazing at him too.

The Undead tried to say something to him, but the arrow in their throat had silenced them for good.

_Chosen Undead._

Oscar tried to speak in their stead. He couldn't find the right words to say. The trotting of the approaching Hollows did nothing to help him concentrate.

The ground shook under their dozens of feet. Their repulsive voices pierced into his ears like poison knives.

"Forgive me." Oscar finally said, knowing the Undead couldn't hear him under the roars of the Hollows, nor could they see his lips move underneath his helmet.

Oscar looked to the sky, and wished the sun was there for him to see one last time before his brutal death.

_Our fate was indeed cruel, my friend. At the very least, I'm glad neither of us had to face it alone._

A rotten hand grabbed Oscar by his helmet. He struggled bravely, even more so when he felt how another Hollow, perhaps more than one, tried to pull the other Undead away from him.

"Stay back!"

Against the protests of his body, Oscar managed to land a heavy kick on a Hollow's face. The lower jaw of the creature broke with a loud crack, leaving its mouth forever open.

It was all in vain.

To Hollows, pain meant nothing.

That was not the case for the living and the Undead.

The reminder came to Oscar as a heavy blow to his helmet, strong enough to bend the metal and reach his skull with the same force as if his head had been uncovered.

His world became empty and white. When Oscar came back to his senses again, the first thing he noticed was the absence of the Undead's hand in his.

"No!"

Instinctively, he tried to stand up, but a Hollow stamped his foot against his belly, forcing Oscar to stay still on the ground. Oscar screamed as the pain contained in his stomach exploded and spread to his body faster than a spark lights gunpowder.

Blood invaded his throat, almost succeeding in choking him.

The Hollows roared in a pale imitation of a collective cackle. Among them, there was one that laughed the loudest.

Oscar recognized it. He had caught a quick glimpse of it before losing consciousness. It was the same Hollow that had grabbed him by his helmet and stricken him.

As if reading his thoughts, the Hollow repeated the scene, much to its fellows' delight. The creatures shrieked and grunted approvingly as the Hollow grabbed Oscar by the hair and hit him again in the temple with the handle of its scorched sword.

The bonfire's sword.

The blow was twice as strong than the first. Oscar held on to consciousness only by a thread. He saw his discarded helmet lying not too far away from him. It had a deep dent right on the top.

The Hollows kept on laughing as if they were courtiers and Oscar was their personal jester. The more Oscar listened to them, the more his hatred grew.

When his fury reached its peak, not even the combined injuries of his head and stomach could compare to the wound that had been inflicted to his pride.

It was already shameful enough the Asylum's demon had defeated him with a single blow, but being the laughingstock of a crowd of disgusting Hollows filled Oscar with more humiliation than he thought humanly possible.

_I'm an elite knight of Astora._

Many of his memories had been lost to his incomplete Hollowing, but Oscar could still remember clearly the trials he had gone through to become the knight he had always dreamed to be.

He had proven his worth in multiple battles, he had received horrific wounds, he had carried on no matter how many of his friends betrayed him or died before his eyes.

He had endured all the pain and despair life threw at him and transformed them into a pillar of strength, a source of motivation that kept him moving forward no matter how meaningless his actions felt.

_And I will not die at the hands of such pathetic creatures!_

Inspired by his anger, Oscar tried to hang on to that same pillar once more so that it could grant him the energy necessary to fight like the knight he still was. And if he failed, Oscar would perish as a dignified man, not like a lowly and scared dog.

He sought inside for his knightly motivation.

It was gone without a trace.

Oscar widened his eyes at the discovery.

Gone forever, just like his dreams and fate.

He had no time to mourn his loss. The Hollow made sure of it when it forced Oscar back on his feet only to strike him twice.

Once in his stomach with its knee, another across the face with a diagonal slash of the carbonized steel of its sword.

_I am an elite knight of Astora._

The Hollow grabbed Oscar by the neck before he fell and slammed his back against the ground.

The rest joined in.

_And yet, I...,_

Soon, the knight found his body oppressed by a relentless flow of kicks and stabs, most of them directed at his stomach.

None of the blows was lethal.

No.

The Hollows would not let him die so easily and quickly. They were only getting started. They would take their time and enjoy their torture of the knight.

The man responsible for their freedom.

_This hell is of my own doing._

The thought killed his anger. It wasn't until it had vanished completely that the knight realized how weak of an imitation of bravery and motivation it had been.

_I set this in motion. I freed them, they died, and they went Hollow because of it, because of me. I think..., this is the fate I truly deserve. Yes, of course. I shouldn't have expected anything else. After all, I'm nothing but a failed elite knight of Astora. In the end, I'm just—_

"Oscar!"

The scream was filled with agony and fear. The sound of that word was surreal, almost unnatural.

Then, the knight remembered.

It was his name.

The voice, no matter how distorted, was not new to Oscar.

He knew to whom it belonged.

"Chosen Undead." Oscar muttered with the little air the Hollows had left in his body.

_The Chosen Undead is me._

Oscar moved his head to his side and witnessed the torture of the Undead. His friend was out of sight, hidden behind the group of Hollows torturing them.

Whatever the creatures were doing to them, it was horrible enough to have forced a sound out of the Undead's destroyed throat.

_I am the Chosen Undead, not you. It's me, and no one else. I should let you di—_

Oscar cut his thoughts short before they could commit another betrayal against the other Undead.

_How can I think any of that now? How could I forget about you?_

Oscar needn't ask himself those questions. He already knew the answer to both.

His pride, enhanced by his incomplete Hollowing, had blinded him to the existence or the suffering of the other.

All that had mattered to Oscar after his humiliation at the hands of the Hollows was himself.

The Undead, the prophecy... they all had faded from his mind.

A selfishness so cruel Oscar had never witnessed before.

He clenched his fists and tensed his jaw.

If the Undead hadn't screamed his name in despair, would Oscar have remembered either at all?

_My friend, I asked you to forgive me._

The leader of the Hollows grabbed Oscar's cheeks and made him look directly at its rotten face.

_But now I see that I was wrong._

Then, the Hollow raised the broken, scorched sword high and aimed directly at one of Oscar's eyes.

_I don't have to ask for your forgiveness._

Oscar stopped the sword before it could reach him. His hand and the Hollow's remained locked in an unbreakable struggle. Oscar didn't falter, not even when the rest of the Hollows inflicted dozens of injuries on him to make him flinch.

_I need to earn it. That's why..._

"I'll save you. We'll leave this place together! Do you hear me?" Oscar screamed as he continued to push the Hollow farther away from him. The creature growled and snarled, confused by the sudden defiance of its prey. "Chosen Undead, you said so yourself. This place is not our grave!"

After one final push, Oscar succeeded in getting the Hollow off his chest, but not without snatching the scorched sword from it first. Without knowing how, Oscar stood on his feet.

The remaining Hollows surrounding him stepped away from him like scared animals. Oscar proved their fears right by beheading their leader with the bonfire's sword before the creature had the chance to react.

The head rolled on the floor; the ghost of a growl still engraved in its dreadful features.

Oscar didn't waste time in his small victory and lunged himself at the group of Hollows torturing the Undead. The second of his victims fell to the snowy ground with a slit throat, the third, with a severed spine.

"I'm still here!" Oscar exclaimed as he snuffed the life of the fourth Hollow.

The rest, finally snapping out from the death of their leader, started to fight back. Oscar could hear them coming for him from behind his back.

He didn't care and kept fighting his way towards the Undead.

Oscar didn't notice, but his struggle to reach his friend, no matter how doomed to fail it was, filled him with more satisfaction than his pride ever had.

"I'm with you!" Oscar's voice broke.

Then, he saw them. It was little more than a flashing glimpse, but it was real. The other Undead, with a Hollow holding and pulling each of their limbs in different directions while another gnawed at their face like a vulture.

The scene froze Oscar's blood in his veins, but he didn't stop fighting.

It wasn't over yet.

"Do you hear me, Chosen Undead?" Oscar exclaimed as the group of Hollows behind him jumped at him and dragged him to his knees.

Oscar didn't stop. He would reach the other Undead, even if he had to crawl to them as the Hollows devoured his body.

_I am Oscar, an elite knight of Astora. And above all, I'm your ally. Your friend. I'll save you, so please..._

"Don't you dare give up." Oscar said, his entire body succumbing under the weight of the dozens of enemies on top of him. "Don't you dare go Hollow!"

* * *

_I hear you, Oscar. I hear you now just like I heard you back then. I don't have anything to forgive you for. No... if someone here has to apologize—_

One of their arms finally gave in. The sound of tearing meat and bones was only surpassed by their own scream.

The Hollow eating from their face lost interest when it saw the discarded limb on the ground. The other Hollows holding the Undead let go of them, suddenly deciding that fighting for the torn meat was more interesting than to continue to dismember them.

As they laid on the snowy grass, the Undead began to feel it.

The emptiness blooming from their heart and spreading to their body.

The fate they had once wished for had returned to them again.

_Forgive me, Oscar. But I can't..._

The Hollowing.

_I can't._


	4. You are Hollow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and to PanDeTorao for the comment! I think I will make this fic a bit longer than planned. Maybe 7 chapters instead of 5 haha.

_Survive._

_This word is the only remnant of my past._

_Who said it to me?_

_I do not know._

_I've forgotten._

_Just like my name._

_It's faded._

_My past life is a shattered memory._

_The person I once was is gone forever._

_Lost after countless deaths._

_Yet, the word continues to echo within me._

_The Hollowing has not silenced it._

_I can hear it._

_It whispers._

_Why?_

_Why does it linger?_

_Why does it not disappear?_

_It granted me an unbreakable will to persevere._

_It blinded me._

_It drove me to burn countless of times._

_Only to rise and fall again._

_And again._

_And again._

_And again._

_No matter how many times I died, I kept fighting._

_I was forever trapped in a loop of endless cycles._

_I ran away from it._

_This I remember clearly._

_Survive._

_Even after my voluntary imprisonment, the word remained._

_For so long it kept the Hollowing away._

_It prolonged my sanity against my wishes._

_It tortured me._

_Survive._

_What for?_

_What good has surviving ever brought me?_

_It's caused me only pain and disappointment._

_My body is broken._

_My soul is tainted._

_Meaningless._

_Survive._

_Why should I?_

_The knight is still alive._

_He freed me._

_And now I'm going Hollow._

_It's all his fault._

_He's to blame._

_Survive._

_He's not._

_I am._

_Forgive me._

_Survive._

_I don't want to._

_Not anymore._

_This torture._

_This pain._

_Make it stop._

_Please._

_Don't you dare go Hollow, he says._

_I'm sorry Oscar, but I can't._

_Survive._

_I can't._

_I won't._

_Neither of us will._

* * *

Oscar laid still under the Hollows. His spirit and determination to save the Undead hadn't faltered, but his body couldn't carry on.

He relentlessly tried to move his muscles, but the crushing weight of the Hollows kept his body glued to the ground. Only one of his arms, the one wielding the scorched sword, remained free.

The Hollows growled victorious and filled the air with their putrid breaths, as if mocking Oscar for his efforts.

Feebly, he looked at the Undead.

They weren't moving. The hole where their arm had once been vomited generous sprouts of blood.

The Hollows responsible for their maiming were still caught in a duel for the Undead's torn arm like a pack of starving dogs. The greediest of them, the same that had gnawed at the Undead's face, took every chance it had to dig its teeth into the arm and snatch away a mouthful of meat.

Before Oscar lost sight of it after a couple of Hollows began to stomp their feet against his head, he saw one of the Undead's fingers hanging from between the glutton's teeth.

"Chosen Undead."

Two of his ribs cracked. His stomach became a sea of fire. One of the Hollows kicked him in the jaw, almost succeeding in breaking one of his teeth.

A stream of blood came shooting out of his mouth. The warmth it offered him was the only comfort Oscar had left.

His spirit began to decay, but he held on to it. Oscar knew he would go Hollow the moment he allowed it to slip away.

_It cannot end like this._

His fingers grasped the scorched sword until his knuckles became white under his glove. A Hollow tried to take it from him, but Oscar refused to let go of it.

Angry, the creature dug its teeth on his wrist, piercing leather and skin alike.

It pulled away with a violent swing of its head, taking a chunk of Oscar's glove and flesh.

The pain wasn't enough to make him surrender the weapon.

_This isn't our fate._

A distant cry caught the Hollow's attention just as it was about to crush Oscar's forearm with a rock.

The creature looked at the sky; its fellow Hollows did the same.

Oscar didn't notice.

_Or is it?_

He only became aware of the change when another shriek pierced the air.

Oscar looked up; his tired eyes managed to catch a fleeting glance of a pair of spread black wings dashing through the sky above him.

A strong blow of wind hit Oscar in the face.

Immediately after, he felt how his back became free of the Hollows' unforgiving burden. He took several deep breaths and devoured each mouthful hungrily, ignoring the pain they caused him.

_I'm alive._

The thought settled on his mind before Oscar had time to rationalize it. An overwhelming relief eased his body and slowly calmed down his racing heart.

He then heard the furious screams of the Hollows as they were blown into the air like leaves. They all met their ends when, instead of landing on firm land, they plummeted down the cliff like boulders.

Their roars echoed, none of them distinguishable among the turmoil.

From behind Oscar, the giant raven cried again. The enraged Hollows that had remained near the Asylum replied to the animal's interference with an uproar conformed by their collective war cries and the whistling of the arrows, swords and axes they threw at their new enemy.

The commotion continued to grow louder and more chaotic.

It was a gory battlefield Oscar had no time to witness.

He could only pray that the giant raven would escape as unharmed as possible from the assault of the Hollows.

A part of him stayed focused on the noble sacrifice of the animal, but Oscar had a more important matter on mind, one that required all his attention.

_Chosen Undead._

Oscar began to crawl towards his fallen comrade. He had taken merely a few seconds to recover his strength and gather his thoughts; even then, he felt he had wasted much of the little precious time he had.

The Hollows were distracted but not defeated, and the Chosen Undead still needed his help.

Oscar had to hurry before it was too late.

"I'm coming for you." His words came out faintly. Oscar knew the Undead couldn't hear him, but he kept talking to them. It was comforting and reassuring, almost as if his words were a charm that would keep the Undead and himself alive and free of Hollowing. "Wait for me."

He reached the Undead after what felt like an eternity. He felt the warm touch of the Undead's blood filtering through the fabric of his gloves.

"I'm here." Oscar let go of the scorched sword and rested his hand on the Undead's chest. "I'm—"

His head collapsed on the floor before he could finish. His body had long been pushed beyond its limits, and no amount of spirit or will were longer enough to make it move.

His stomach burned as if it was trying to melt Oscar's insides.

He had to find a way to heal himself, no matter how slightly. Otherwise, neither him nor the Undead would be leaving the Asylum.

Another of the raven's cries reached him. This one was filled with pain.

For a second, Oscar thought he had listened to the raven's dying shriek, but the rhythmic beating of its wings proved his fears wrong.

The animal fought bravely, but the Hollows were numerous and fierce. He knew the raven would continue to fight and offer them protection for as long as it could, but if Oscar didn't hurry, the animal may well perish or abandon him and the Undead to their fates.

Neither option was acceptable.

Using the last of his energy, Oscar moved his hand from the Undead's chest to the bag tied to their hips. He searched inside it.

Peebles.

Rubbish.

Broken arrows.

And more rubbish.

_What use did you ever think you could make out of all this stuff, you fool? You are a lost cause, seriously._

Oscar thought, almost with a smile.

The thought turned sour as soon as it manifested.

The Undead would never pick every piece of useless trash that crossed their way again. They would never want or do anything, because they were already—

"No." Oscar muttered, his hand finally emerging from the bag with the half-empty Estus Flask. He took a small sip, barely more than a few drops, just enough to recover the strength necessary to feed the rest to the Undead.

_I should drink it whole. It's mine._

The dark whispers resonated inside Oscar as he managed to get himself on his knees and put the Undead's head on his lap.

He snapped the metal tip of the arrow stuck in the Undead's throat and pulled the shaft out from their neck.

The arrow came out cleanly, but the process had still been rushed. Oscar didn't stop to calculate the damage he knew he had accidentally inflicted on his friend.

All he could do was trying to heal them.

_I've tried to save many other Undeads before. I always failed. Why should this time be any different?_

Oscar struggled to keep his hand from trembling as he poured a dash of Estus inside the Undead's mouth.

There was no reaction, no chocking or attempt to swallow. The liquid fire remained stuck in the Undead's throat.

Thin golden streams started to leak from the hole the arrow had left behind.

_It's no use. Forget about this poor soul. Save yourself._

"Drink." Oscar said, wishing his audible voice would keep his inner one silent.

The Undead didn't react.

Their empty eye holes had finally become completely devoid of life.

"Drink!" Oscar fed the Undead more Estus, leaving the flask almost empty. Desperate, he shook the Undead with enough force to wake them up from even the deepest slumber, but the Undead remained still.

It wasn't until then that Oscar realized how light their body was.

_They died._

"No." Oscar held them closer to him. The empty vessel that had once been the Undead remained still.

Oscar lost sense of the world around him, as it happened every time he witnessed death.

Death, own or someone else's, was not something one could ever get used to. It was a truth Oscar had discovered long ago.

Apathy and indifference were shields that helped the Undead focus and keep up a valiant facade, but death always left its mark.

In a sense, death was no different than torture. No one came out of it unscathed, not the tortured nor the torturer, nor the dead nor the witnesses.

Not even for the bearers of the Undead curse was death trivial. It didn't matter if they could come back to life many times, not when each revival took something away from them and brought them closer to their inevitable Hollowing.

The only Undead who didn't fear death were those who were new to the curse or those whose souls were freshly infused with Humanity.

The Chosen Undead was neither.

They had sacrificed their only Humanity and given it to Oscar.

They had retained their sense of self after years of disillusioned imprisonment and after their death at the hands of the Asylum Demon, but the rotten state of their body reflected how brittle their hold on sanity really was.

Oscar knew one more death would be enough to break the Undead's spirit for good.

Not even a gentle passing would have saved the Undead from Hollowing if they were to die again, and their latest death at the hands of the Hollows had been a hellish, torturous nightmare.

Oscar only needed to look at the Undead's face to know the torment the Hollows had put them through.

The right side of the Undead's face had been eaten to the bone, exposing their teeth in a perpetual mockery of a grin. What little flesh remained was scarred with teeth marks and infected clawing wounds.

Their remaining limbs were dislocated and twisted like the parts of a mistreated rag doll.

Even if their torture had only lasted minutes, the despair of such experience would have been enough to reduce the bravest of knights to a crying child begging for death.

For a decayed Undead, there was no hope.

_But this Undead is particularly determined._

A shard of hope sparked inside Oscar when, against his rational judgement, he dared to consider the possibility that the Undead had died without Hollowing.

_Someone as stubborn as you wouldn't have Hollowed now that we were so close to leaving this place. You are better than this, I'm sure of it._

With renewed optimism, Oscar imagined the Undead being reborn at the bonfire with their sanity intact.

It was not over yet.

The corpse in his arms would fade away and rise again from the bonfire's ashes.

Maybe there was still a chance for Oscar to save them.

Maybe they would meet again and leave the Asylum together.

Maybe—

His childish illusions were devoured by reality when his eyes saw the scorched sword on the snow.

 _The bonfire_.

Oscar picked up the sword.

_It is gone. Destroyed by the Hollows._

Oscar hunched his back until his forehead touched the Undead's. His left hand clenched the sword's handle, his right hand the Estus Flask.

_Even if you didn't go Hollow, there's no place left here for you to return. Where will you go? What will happen to you? What have I done to you?_

"I'm sorry." Oscar said under his breath. "This is all my fault. If I had known I would put you through so much pain, I would have never—"

Oscar bit his tongue.

There was no point in lying when the Undead could no longer hear him.

He would have, and Oscar knew it.

He would have put the Undead through a thousand hells if that had benefited him.

Hadn't he already done so when he disrupted the stale but peaceful existence of the Asylum's residents with his selfish interference?

Oscar had sentenced them to their Hollowing, and had the Asylum's Demon not defeated him, Oscar would have escaped that place without dedicating a second thought to the decayed Undeads he would have left behind.

They could have fought and devour each other for all eternity, or they could have gone back to their cells and fester in their misery for all time.

Oscar wouldn't have cared, not as long as his fate as the Chosen Undead of the prophecy was sealed.

_Who is this despicable man? Has he always been me? Shameful. Unworthy. Selfish. Weak. And now... chosen. Not by merit, but by default._

Oscar straightened his back. Gently, he laid the other Undead on the snowy grass. He stared at the corpse before it faded into the wind.

It would happen at any second. The least Oscar could do was to look at the empty shell of the Undead he had condemned before it disappeared into nothingness.

The fight between the raven and the Hollows continued. In his mind, Oscar apologized to the giant bird for his sentimentalism, knowing too well he was spending time he did not have on senseless rituals, but he was decided to grant the other Undead that small gesture.

It was the least a lowly elite knight of Astora could do for the Undead that had saved him.

"I'll link the fire in your stead." Oscar said after drinking what little Estus remained in the flask. He felt like a thief plundering a body when he put the container away in his bag. "I'll fulfill the prophecy. This chance you gave me... I won't waste it, I promise. Farewell my friend, and thank you. For everything."

Oscar listened to himself and became invaded with shame.

_You gave me your last death; I give you some honeyed words. How empty and childish they sound. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. That's all I am._

His arms began to shake out of control.

_I'm not worthy of being the Chosen Undead, I never was. I never will be. Perhaps... perhaps that's why my fate was to die and Hollow here. I'm not a hero. I do not make changes. I can't make them happen, just like I can't save anyone. I can't even save the Undead that helped me. How can I expect to save the world? I'm not a hero. I'm—_

A biting cold dug its fangs in his heart. His eyes continued to look at the corpse of the Undead, but he could no longer see it. His whole world became reduced to the halted corruption that was starting to spread on his soul and body again, reignited by his moment of doubt and weakness.

The Hollowing had seized its chance.

Oscar tried to fight back.

It was in vain.

He had no source left that could lend him strength.

His memories, his hopes, his pride, the prophecy, the Undead.

They were all gone.

All because of him.

"I'm a sham." Oscar stared at his trembling hands. He could feel the corrupted half of his face expanding its reach on his healthy skin. "A fraud."

_I should just disappear._

The scorched sword slowly approached his neck.

He had to be precise.

If he was lucky, it would be swift and painless.

Oscar knew he could ask nothing more from death.

_I should just—_

Oscar's hand stopped just before the burnt metal reached his flesh.

He blinked, thinking the opposition came from his survival instinct, but soon he discovered it came from a hand holding his forearm.

At first, he thought the image was only a final trick from his Hollowing mind, but when the Undead's fingers tightened their grasp on him, Oscar realized it wasn't a delirium, but reality.

"You." Oscar felt how the flow of time and his Hollowing came to a halt.

He gasped, as if he had awakened from a nightmare. Promptly, he pulled his arm away from his neck and put his other hand above the Undead's.

"You're alive."

The relief he felt clashed with the bitter awareness of what he had been about to do to himself. It was a memory too fresh and strong to cast away.

Scared its shadow would overwhelm him if he pondered on it for a second, Oscar locked it in the deepest part of his mind.

Had the weight of the other Undead's hand on his arm not been there to remind him they were still alive, Oscar doubted he would have succeeded.

Amidst his despair, he felt grateful towards the Undead.

Even if it hadn't been their intention, they had saved Oscar from his worst enemy.

Himself.

The Undead took a deep breath. They swallowed the Estus stuck in their throat. It came down to their stomach with a bubbling murmur.

They coughed and spat bloody drops of drool that stained their armor and face.

Quickly, Oscar put a hand behind their back and helped the Undead into a sitting position. He made sure to be as gentle as possible, no matter how weak and unresponsive his own limbs felt.

The Estus he had drunk had refilled some of his strength, but his mind had still to come to terms with what was happening around him.

"It's alright, you're safe now. I'm here." Oscar said to the Undead as their coughing fit started to fade. They looked at him, their face too scarred and deformed to convey any emotion.

It was unnecessary. Oscar already knew how they felt.

Confused, lost, angry, betrayed even.

He had felt the same way.

The Undead had been there for him.

It was time for Oscar to do the same for them.

"The Hollows remain, but we're not alone in this fight." Oscar explained to the Undead. Finally, he looked over his shoulder.

The raven was injured. It could still fly, but there was an arrhythmic dissonance in the movement of its wings. It was barely perceptible, but Oscar could see it.

The raven's wounds weren't lethal, but if the fight continued, they could turn crippling.

"I won't let that happen." Oscar said, holding the scorched sword with determination. He turned his face back towards the Undead. "Listen carefully. I'll go fight the remaining Hollows. I'll distract them while you and the raven—"

A sword's blade whistled as it cut the air in a horizontal slash. If Oscar's ears hadn't been so accustomed to the sound, the sword would have severed his head from his shoulders cleanly.

Instead, Oscar plunged himself backwards and dodged the sword. It was a clumsy maneuver, but elegance had no place when it came to save one's life.

Pulled down by the weight of his armor, Oscar hit the ground with his back. Without wasting a second, he brought himself back to his feet and held the scorched sword handle with both hands.

His offensive stance reflected his anger.

He looked around, eager to find the Hollow that had attacked him so he could kill it before it hurt the Undead.

There was no one else.

Only him and the Undead.

"Chosen Undead?"

They stood in front of him, a sword hanging from their only hand.

Oscar's sword, the same the Undead had carried on their back.

The same sword that had attacked Oscar a few seconds ago.

_No._

His stance faltered. The Chosen Undead saw the opportunity and leaped at Oscar.

He jumped out of the way, leaving the Undead to dig the sword into the ground. The Undead roared in frustration and swiftly freed the sword with a vertical slash that cut the ground as if it was butter.

Chunks of soil and grass rose into the air together with the blade. The Undead growled and pulled the sword down with all the strength of their arm. 

It was a furious, savage attack that almost broke through Oscar's defenses.

The straight sword and the scorched sword clashed against each other, a few sparks exploding from their violent contact.

"What are you doing?!" Oscar exclaimed. "Stop this!"

Not without guilt, Oscar kicked the Undead in the stomach. The Undead staggered enough for Oscar to deliver a killing riposte if he had wished so.

Instead, he allowed the Undead to recover, convinced their attack had only been the result of their disoriented mind.

A violent frenzy that simply needed cooling.

A meltdown that would pass after some venting.

Just that, nothing more.

"Chosen Undead, it's alright. It's me, Oscar." Gently, Oscar took a step foward, his hand reaching out towards them. The Undead looked at him, their chin covered with drool and their deformed mouth twisted into a snarl. "It's all passed. The Hollows can't hurt you anymore. Please, calm down. I swear I will not let anything else—"

His voice fell on deaf ears. The Undead attacked Oscar again.

Their attacks were chaotic and relentless. There was no real thought behind them other than madness and bloodlust.

The way the Undead moved the sword to deliver crushing blows left many weak spots exposed.

The style was not unknown to Oscar.

It was the same powerful and vicious battle style of Hollows.

_No! You couldn't have gone Hollow! You're still sane, I know it! There's still hope in your heart! This is just a momentary fit of madness. It'll pass soon, and then we'll leave this place together._

_Right, my friend?_

His former sword inflicted a shallow wound on his left side. The sharp metal tore silk and chainmail alike, managing to reach Oscar's skin and draw out blood.

Oscar flinched, not just because of the pain.

It was the Undead's cruel laughter what finally broke his concentration. They tried to finish Oscar off with a stab directed at his heart, but Oscar parried the attack in the last moment.

This time, he didn't not hesitate, and his counterattack came in the form of a riposte that injured the Undead heavily.

The Undead cried and stepped back, but soon after, with little concern about their wound, they initiated another mindless attack on Oscar.

_It really happened._

Oscar kept blocking and dodging, but he didn't attack again. His stance became wholly defensive, all his stamina was spent on keeping himself safe, but he couldn't employ it against the other Undead.

Whatever had drove him to counterattack was now buried deep under the realization of his newest failure.

_You've gone Hollow._

The thought hurt more than he dared to admit. Yet, underneath it, there was something else. A brighter feeling.

One that burned like fire. It broke through his despair and granted him hope.

_And now I must destroy you._

Oscar began to attack the Undead with the same aggression they showed him.

He did so with a smile.

His dark thoughts took over.

Oscar didn't notice.

Even if he had, he wouldn't have minded.

_I will kill you, and become the true Chosen Undead._


	5. You are the Chosen Undead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for reading and to PanDeTorao for the comment! This chapter was a bit of a handful to write, but I finally managed to finish it haha. Just a couple of chapters left, perhaps a few more... idk lol. In any case, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

"They all failed me. They were strong, but none saw the truth. Will no one ever prove to be different?"

The darkness devoured the serpent's words.

There was no answer, only silence.

Still, cold and quiet.

Though empty, it was not meaningless.

Kaathe listened to it.

Its peaceful beauty was tainted by the sleeping mumblings of his brethren.

He could not see the traitor, nor did he look for him.

The lover of humans was not worth the time and effort.

Frampt's speech overcame the silence.

His words, though broken, were not without sense.

Kaathe had heard them many times before.

He was not fond of them, but neither he took them seriously.

Frampt's disgustingly glorified farce set human souls on fire, but for Kaathe, it was little more than a dull lullaby.

He closed his eyes.

There was no point in continuing his laments now that Frampt had infected the darkness.

Kaathe would sleep until silence had returned.

If fortune was on their side, both him and Frampt would be awakened by the toll of the bell.

Kaathe played with the idea but kept his expectations low.

He knew the odds.

The next Undead that accomplished the feat would likely not be any different than the rest.

Just another sorry fool without the power or soul necessaries to fulfill neither his or Frampt's fates.

The thought was tiring, but not disheartening.

Unlike mortals, serpents knew the true meaning of patience.

And among all primordial serpents, none knew it better than Kaathe.

He would wait for his Dark Lord.

Frampt gagged on a snore and pronounced the king's name.

Kaathe's eyes sprung open.

The word never failed to embitter his mood.

His desire to rest ruined, he stared into the darkness.

Then, he saw it.

Serpents were seldom prone to amazement, especially Kaathe.

But the change, though insignificant and small, was far from irrelevant.

"Pathetic creature lost in the darkness." He reached towards the interloper, his neck stretching across the endless pitch-black void. "Why have you wandered here?"

The presence was familiar.

Nostalgic.

_Who are you?_

Kaathe hastened his pace.

_Is it really you?_

Frampt's blabber and snores grew louder, but Kaathe could no longer hear him.

_Have you come back to the start?_

All that mattered to him was the intruding presence dancing aimlessly amidst the darkness like a dying flame.

_Welcome back, furtive lord._

A flickering ember.

_Bearer of the Dark Soul._

* * *

_I'm Hollow._

Their wished had finally been granted.

Their immunity to it had always been a curse more than a blessing, but at last, their mind and body had yielded.

It was all so marvelous.

The Undead became drunk with their new reality. Being Hollow was more fulfilling than they could have ever dreamed.

Nothing could compare to it, except for the knight.

Watching him dance as he continued to block their attacks and counter them with powerful ripostes was the most beautiful image the Undead's mind had conjured since the loss of their former memories.

They knew the scene would, in time, become a precious memory that would stay with them for all time. Their first memory as a Hollow would become their most treasured.

_My fellow Hollow._

Every cut, every stab, every injury they inflicted or received filled them with peace and fulfillment.

To the Undead, the frenzied duel was a demonstration of understanding and camaraderie between them and the knight. There was no hate or resentment behind the blood they both spilled.

The act was natural and harmonious. Each strike the elite knight landed on their body was an acknowledgement of the Undead's existence, a token of their fire-forged friendship, and the Undead cherished them as such.

For the first time in ages, or perhaps in all their wretched existence, someone cared enough for the Undead's life to want nothing more than to end it.

Their many past deaths, though hazy and confusing, had an emptiness the Undead hadn't forgotten.

They had all been without a purpose.

Many of them had been accidents, consequences of the Undead's clumsiness or carelessness. The rest, those who had been committed by beasts or people, felt so trivial that the Undead doubted the perpetrators had remembered the killing for more than a few hours.

The knight was different. He attacked them with a passion that went beyond hatred or madness.

The Undead didn't know what to call that sentiment, but they understood it.

They felt the same way towards the knight.

The care and gratefulness they felt for him was intoxicating to their heart, but to their body, being merely the vulgar and weak vessel of their soul, it was overwhelming. It found no other way to convey their wild emotions other than with violence and a thirst to destroy.

And above all, a hunger to devour.

The Undead smiled, their deformed face twisting into a snarl that didn't match with what laid inside their heart.

It wasn't that they longed for the knight's death. Their intention was too pure to reduce it to such term.

Death was not the objective but a consequence of the Undead's true intention.

They would devour the knight, just like the Hollows had done with their face.

The Undead didn't resent the creatures for what they had done.

The act had been torturous, but it had also been innocent and illuminating. Eating was, after all, the greatest celebration of life, and the only way Hollows had left to express what little specks of humanity still lingered within them.

The Undead could now see the truth.

At its core, the Hollows' feasting on their flesh had been an act of love.

What better way to thank the knight for freeing them and giving them purpose than to do the same and devour him whole, entangling their essences together for all time?

The act could appear perverse and cruel at first sight, but just like their blood-soaked duel, there was a deeper meaning hidden underneath their shallow display of aggression.

The Undead didn't bother to formulate a rational explanation to what their hollowed heart and mind knew was true.

The knight's flesh, soul and fate would become one with the Undead. They would nourish each other for all eternity.

Together, they would become a fusion of souls. Loneliness, despair and futility would be concepts they would no longer be able to understand.

They would always have each other.

The Undead would only need to feel their rotten blood rushing through their veins to remember the knight still existed within them in some form, continuing to give them the strength they needed to live on as a Hollow.

If there was a more sincere gesture of care and appreciation, the Undead couldn't fathom it.

The knight charged at them.

The Undead opened their mouth, salivating with anticipation of their first bite.

A lump formed in their throat and paralyzed them where they stood.

_My friend._

Had they had the eyes necessary to do so, they would have cried.

The knight's attack reached them before they could snap out of their trance.

The Undead flinched and their weapon escaped from their hand as the knight's coiled black sword pierced their right side with a powerful stab. The weapon cut skin, flesh and bone effortlessly until it reemerged from the Undead's back covered in rotten blood.

There was no pain, not even after the knight used the stuck sword to push the Undead to the floor, further destroying their organs with his violent motions as they both fell to the ground.

The Undead landed on their back. Their vision of the grey sky above was swiftly replaced by the knight's face as he held them down with one knee pressed on their chest.

"It's over." The knight said. Though slightly more corrupted, his face was still more human than Hollow; other than the crazed smile frozen on his lips, there were little signs of true madness in his features.

The image sent a stabbing shiver to the Undead's heart. The unyielding affection they felt towards the knight began to shatter and morph into something else.

Something fouler, something more appropriate to what a Hollow was supposed to harbor inside its putrid soul.

_You cannot trick me. You're Hollow, just like me. Stop pretending you're not._

"Pathetic creature, you'll die now by my hand." The knight pulled out the scorched sword from their body. The weapon's tip dripped blood on the Undead's rusted chainmail as he held it right above their chest. "As fate has commanded me."

The knight laughed under his breath.

The Undead laid still. Unless the knight acted quickly, they knew they would have plenty of opportunity to turn the fight in their favor.

Had they wanted to, the Undead could have lunged their mouth at the knight's throat and rip it open with a single bite.

It would only take a second; yet, they waited and allowed the knight to deliver his final blow.

Dying at his hands was far a better outcome than the possibility of their duel and bond as Hollows being nothing but a lie.

If the knight wasn't truly Hollow, then the bond that tied them together would be a farce.

Without the Hollowing, it all meant nothing.

The Undead refused to accept the idea.

Seconds passed, and the only noticeable change was the knight's sword increased trembling.

Guttural growls only perceivable for the Undead began to form in their destroyed throat.

_Do it, kill me. You're Hollow. Why do you hesitate now? Who are you trying to deceive? Who are you trying to impress? Stop pretending and kill me!_

The knight's features softened; his smile disappeared.

His expression was not one proper of a Hollow nor that of a man about to kill.

The change caused all the hatred stored inside the Undead to break free, as warm and abundant as the blood leaking from their many wounds.

_Stop pretending!_

The Undead's words came out as a roar. Blinded by anger and broken by disappointment, they lunged their mouth at the knight's exposed neck. Their teeth pierced his skin and became stuck in his flesh.

Blood flooded inside their mouth. Unlike their own, the knight's blood was fresh and sweet.

It was not the blood of a Hollow.

_Why? Why are you not Hollow? Why did you not kill me? Is that not what you wanted, what you warned me you would do at the first chance you got? You feckless liar!_

The Undead warped their only arm around the knight's back to prevent him from escaping while they devoured him.

The knight offered no resistance, not even a grunt of pain.

_So be it. You may not be Hollow, but I am. I'll devour you until there's no trace left of your sad existence._

They readied their jaw and prepared themselves to start feasting on their willing prey.

Seconds passed.

The Undead remained frozen.

The knight's blood in their mouth became tasteless. The hunger that moments ago had seemed unsatisfiable transformed into disgust.

The Undead held the knight closer to them. Their hold on his throat began to loosen.

_Why, knight?_

They heard the clinking echo of the knight's scorched sword hitting the ground.

_Please, tell me._

The knight surrounded their shoulders with an arm. His grip was strong but not forceful.

_Why did you pretend?_

The Undead's teeth departed from his flesh completely and chattered.

_Why did I?_

"You're not Hollow. Neither of us are. It's alright, let's stop this now. " The knight said.

_Why did we?_

A tearless whimper hatched in the Undead's chest. The world of their fake Hollowing came crashing down.

"Oscar."

"It's alright. Let's just stop."

* * *

_I'm not Hollow._

Oscar realized without any feeling of shame.

If his attacks were savage and desperate it was because they were driven by an eager ambition to cut down the Hollow and reclaim his rightful place as the Chosen Undead of the prophecy; no matter how erratic his movements and thoughts were, they were still under his control.

It was all thanks to the Hollow.

With their Hollowing, they had given Oscar hope and a new purpose that had kept his corruption from taking over him.

_I'm grateful to you, I really am._

The Undead dropped their guard. Oscar took the chance, decided to finish their duel once and for all. It had been amusing, but he had duties to fulfill.

Duties only the Chosen Undead could carry out.

_That's why I'll kill you._

He couldn't waste any more time with a crazed Hollow.

He knocked the creature down and immobilize it under his weight. Looking down on his defeated foe, Oscar felt a rush of anticipation reaching all the nerves of his body.

It was over. He needed only to deliver the final blow and his fate would be sealed.

Without the Hollow standing in his way, the prophecy would be his to take and do as he wished with it. He deserved it, he had earned it.

The world owed him that much, and Oscar was ready to reclaim his reward.

There was no shame in his victory or in his actions. Oscar was just a knight about to exterminate a Hollow.

It was his responsibility not only as an elite knight but also as a sentient Undead to rid the world of those foul creatures.

He was doing it for the sake of the land, not only for his selfish ambitions.

There was no shame in the killing of a Hollow.

"It's over. Pathetic creature. You'll die now by my hand ."

Only glory.

"As fate has commanded me."

The laughed that escaped his throat felt foreign.

_Kill it. Put this thing out of its misery and take back what's yours. It owes you that much._

Oscar's hands tightened their grip on the bonfire's sword and trembled. He felt like a squire about to commit his first killing after an honorable duel.

He wondered how faithful that scenario was to his original memory. The thought of his lost memories came with a twinge of grief that almost brought tears to his eyes. With great effort, Oscar turned his back on the past and focused on his present.

He could not recover what was already lost, but he still could create a future for himself, one that shone brighter than the incandescent sun.

His fate was at hand, so close that he swore he could feel its weight on his fingertips.

_All there's left between me and my fate is you._

Oscar glared down at the Hollow.

The Hollow stared back at him.

In its deformed face destroyed by wounds and rotten with Hollowing, he saw only sadness and disappointment.

Oscar winced, his heart dropped to his feet. He blinked, convinced that his tired eyes were playing a trick on him, but the Hollow's face remained unchanged.

It was unnatural.

A face so scarred had no means to convey any emotion, and even if it had not been half devoured, a Hollow's features were not supposed to demonstrate sentiments other than madness or anger.

It went against all Oscar had learned and expected from the world. He sought for an answer, for any sort of explanation that could put his mind at ease so he could kill the Hollow for good, but he found none.

_Unless—_

His smile became a grimace of disillusionment.

Oscar had suspected it.

Deep inside him, a part of him had known since the start.

He had seen the truth concealed behind their violence, but he had refused to accept it.

Why should he when the Undead was just as willing and eager as him to play along with their farce?

_No, you're Hollow! You must be, I know it!_

His lips parted.

Before he could pronounce a word, the Undead lunged themselves at his throat. Oscar felt the hot touch of his blood mixing with the sharp teeth of the Undead as they threatened to tear his skin open.

Oscar clenched his jaw. It was the only reaction his body could muster.

The Undead held him closer to them with their only arm. It was a strong grasp Oscar could have broken if he acted quickly enough.

He didn't.

Instead, he waited.

Not for his death, but for an answer.

_Go on. Kill me. You're Hollow, are you not? It should come as natural as breathing to you. You should rejoice in it. Do it now, I will not stop you._

If they were truly Hollow, Oscar knew death was unavoidable by that point.

If they weren't, if being Hollow was only a façade the Undead was willing to perpetuate with his death, Oscar would not run from it.

He had no right to do so, not when he had agreed to take part in the whole charade and had done so with so much pride and fervor.

It was then Oscar discovered the only way for him to die with honor was to perish at the Hollow's hands. A part of him prayed the other would read his thoughts and grant him that last gesture.

_I was wrong. The world doesn't owe me anything, and neither do you. I am the one who's in debt with all of you. I've failed so many times and I just keep falling lower. I see the wrong in my actions but I never stop. I never change. I'm a monster. Please, help me make amends. I beg of you... kill me._

Oscar closed his eyes.

He remembered all the injuries he had stricken on the Hollow, each worse and more violent than the last. He had enjoyed inflicting all of them, not out of bloodlust but out of relief.

Each had meant a step closer to his fate.

_Why? Why did I pretend?_

Oscar felt how the scorched sword's handle started to slip from his fingers.

_Why didn't I stop?_

The Hollow held Oscar tighter. They remained still; their bite frozen in an eternal moment of hesitation.

It was not an action proper of a Hollow.

_You fool._

Oscar let go of his sword.

He warped that same arm around the Undead's shoulders. Slowly, he felt the Undead's teeth departing from his bloody throat.

_You're wondering the same thing, aren't you?_

Oscar opened his eyes.

"You're not Hollow. Neither of us are." He felt the Undead shaking against him. "It's alright, let's stop now. "

"Oscar."

His name.

Even after all that had happened, they still remembered.

"It's alright." Oscar said. For the first time since the Undead curse had found a way into his body, he felt alive. "Let's just stop."

They both did.

The moment of peace that followed was brief and met an abrupt end at the hands of reality, but it was all Oscar and the Undead needed to realize that whatever fate had in store for either of them, it was not dying at the hands of each other.

_For me, that is enough._

Oscar thought just before the raven's cry resonated behind his back.

_Perhaps even more._

* * *

It was Oscar who gently broke their embrace.

"Listen to me."

The Undead was limp on their knees, their chin glued to their chest and their eyes fixed on the ground.

They didn't look at Oscar. They couldn't, not when the sin they had committed against him was as fresh as the blood dripping from the corner of their mouth.

_I'm not Hollow._

The Undead watched Oscar's blood spreading on the snow under his knees. Just how seriously they had injured him was a thought they didn't dare to touch.

_But I'm still a monster._

"Please, we haven't got much time." Oscar put his hands on their shoulders. He waited, but he got no answer from the Undead.

It didn't take long for Oscar to stand up and leave them behind, but not before picking up his former longsword, the same the Undead had used to injure him.

_I'm sorry, Oscar._

The Undead looked up the moment they felt the absence of Oscar's weight resting on their shoulders. They whimpered, their fear and despair increasing at the same rate of their anxious heartbeat.

_What I tried to do to you—No, what I've done to you is beyond forgiveness, I know it, but..._

The Undead rested their only hand on the snowy grass in an anguished attempt to find their balance to stand up and go after Oscar. Rather than landing on soft blades of grass, their hand met a sharp, uneven surface that made the Undead hiss with pain.

Instinctively, they looked at what had harmed them.

Oscar's discarded sword. The bonfire's sword.

The Undead grabbed it and held it close to their chest as if it was a charm.

That weapon of coiled and burnt metal would be the only memento they would have left of Oscar once he had abandoned them.

It would be a fitting punishment for what they had done to him. The Undead understood and accepted it, but that didn't make it any less difficult for them to face Oscar's departure.

Their grief over the loss of the only person that mattered to them was too great for the Undead to bother with stoicism or dignity.

_Please, don't leave me._

The Undead's breathing became irregular with agitation. They stood up clumsily, their legs shaking and burning with dozens of wounds. They walked towards Oscar, his back turned on them as he tried to free his crest shield stuck on the snow with the help of his sword.

_Please, don't go._

The Undead tried to speak, but his damaged throat and tongue could only remember how to pronounce one word.

"Oscar."

Oscar gasped in surprise. He turned around just in time to see the Undead trip over in front of him.

"Chosen Undead!" In the blink of an eye, Oscar was again at their side, kneeling next to them and helping the Undead into their knees. His sword and freed shield laid discarded close by. "You fool, can't you see how badly wounded you are? Why did you—"

Oscar's concerned expression wavered. Seeing his eyes fill with guilt was unbearable for the Undead.

They tried to hold him again, but stopped at the last second, afraid they would not be able to let him go again if they did.

Instead, they put their hand on Oscar's shoulder. He replied to the gesture by putting his hands above theirs.

_You don't owe me anything. You have nothing to make up for. I'm not angry at you, I never was. So please..._

Oscar gave the Undead's hand one last squeeze before he gently took it off from his shoulder. Then, he picked up his sword and shield.

The Undead grunted, shaking their head and dreading what they knew Oscar would say next.

_Don't do anything stupid._

"This is how it must be." Oscar said, trying his best to make his words a comfort for the Undead. "This is how I want it to be. This is the fate I've chosen for myself. Trust me when I say that giving my life for you fills me with nothing but pride. Not only it is my fate, it's also my greatest honor."

The Undead held the bonfire's sword closer to their chest, their head still denying at what their ears heard.

_I don't want it... I don't need your sacrifice! I don't want you to do this for me. Not for me._

They opened their mouth, but nothing came out of it other than Oscar's name.

"Listen." Oscar said. The Undead could hear in his guttural voice the tears trapped inside his throat. "I'll distract the remaining Hollows while you and the raven escape. Do not move from here. Wait for the bird to come pick you up. No, I know what you're thinking. It wouldn't work... I'm afraid it is too injured to carry us both. "

Oscar looked at the still ongoing fight between the raven and the remaining Hollows. The Undead imitated him.

Several swords, axes and arrows clung to the animal's body like leeches. The ground of the battlefield was covered with dead Hollows and dozens of its destroyed black feathers. One of its feet was curled and soaked with blood. When it tried to fly, its movement were desperate and heavy, as if each flutter of its wings implied a wave of pain.

Yet, despite its injuries, the raven continued to fight bravely the few Hollows that remained, but what they lacked in numbers, they compensated with ferocity. More than a duel for victory, for the raven the fight had become a struggle for survival.

A surge of sadness stung the Undead.

All this time, the raven had been protecting them and Oscar and it wasn't until then the Undead became aware of the animal's sacrifice.

_If only I hadn't wasted our time with my selfish Hollow charade, this wouldn't have happened. If only I..._

The Undead looked away, too ashamed to continue watching the trial the raven was enduring because of them.

"I have to hurry, before it's too late." Oscar stood up. "Do as I told you, my friend. Please, it would mean everything to me."

The Undead looked at him.

For a moment, they felt the same way they had back in their cell, when their eternal self-pitying had been interrupted by a mysterious knight looking down at them from the roof as he offered them a corpse with the key to their freedom.

The Undead knew it was this image and not the one they had chosen before which they treasured most.

_A light in the darkness, a fire burning in the deepest abyss. That's what this memory is for me. That's what you are for me._

"Oscar."

The Undead grabbed his hand and used it as a support to stand up.

_A light that must keep shining._

"Stop this." Oscar tried to push them back on the ground, but the Undead resisted his attempts. For once, they felt glad they had injured him to that extent. Had Oscar been in better shape, they doubted they would have been able to defy him.

_A fire that must not fade._

"Stop! You stubborn fool, I won't let you interfere. Just stay here and do as I told you! If I must cut your ankles to make you stop, I will."

Oscar's threat was so hollow it was almost comical.

_Astora must be quite the sentimental land for its elite knights to ignore that threats are not supposed to be spoken._

The Undead and Oscar looked at each other. When Oscar was about to continue with his speech, the Undead stabbed him in the stomach with the bonfire's sword.

_They are supposed to be acted._

Oscar's mouth opened in a silent scream. His sword fell, but his shield remained firmly attached to his forearm. The Undead pushed the sword deeper onto his belly, hating themselves for what they were doing, but knowing too well they had no choice.

Oscar held the Undead's arm with his free hand, his knees struggling to keep him standing.

"But— " His voice had been reduced to a breathless whisper. His hand slipped from the Undead's arm to their wrist as his legs succumbed to his weight. "But—why?"

_Because this is not your fate._

"Oscar."

The Undead gently took Oscar's hand away from their wrist and helped him into a sitting position by making him lean against a rock.

Oscar tried to pull the coiled sword out, but his strength wasn't enough. The sight of betrayal and frustration in his features was too much for the Undead.

They picked up his longsword and turned their back on him without giving him a second glance.

They didn't want to remember Oscar looking at them that way. They erased the image from their mind and replaced it with that of their first encounter.

A shinning peace cleansed their soul from fear and doubt.

_As long as I have this memory, it will be as if you were still by my side._

Taking a deep breath and ignoring Oscar's hushed pleas, the Undead charged at the battlefield of the raven and the Hollows.

_Somewhere within me, you will always exist. I'm not alone._

The first Hollow that died at their hand never got to know the face of its killer. Its head departed from its shoulders before it got a chance to look at the one-armed Undead that appeared out of nowhere.

The other Hollows were not so careless. One by one, they transferred their attention from the injured raven to their new opponent, one far more interesting to kill and tastier to devour than some random intruding animal.

The raven wasted no time.

The Undead watched it fly away from the gory scene directly towards Oscar. With little elegance, the raven grabbed him with his healthy foot and raised up to the sky with him.

The Undead smiled, uncaring of how the relentless attacks of the Hollows had broken their defense and reached their body in the form of lethal blows.

The Undead collapsed. The Hollows surrounded them.

None of it mattered.

Oscar was safe.

_That's enough for me... no, it's more than that._

The Hollows discarded their weapons and threw themselves over the Undead like hyenas, showering them with starved bites and gnaws.

_It is everything._

* * *

"No." Oscar said, hanging on to consciousness by a thread as he reached his arm towards the distant Asylum.

The cold wind crashing against his body and the pressure of the raven's foot around him had robbed him of whatever little energy was left in his ragged body, but it didn't stop Oscar from screaming when he saw the blurry image of the Hollows devouring the Undead whole.

"No!"

His voice resonated across the landscape, but it was heard by no one other than the raven.

The animal echoed his lament with a mournful cry.

_Chosen Undead._

The raven's song was the last thing Oscar heard before he fell into the darkness of unconsciousness.

_How could you?_

Like most his prayers, the question remained forever unanswered.


	6. Two new shrines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thank you so much to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to PandeTorao and MissLittleTall for their comments! They mean a lot to me and I'm grateful you take your time to write them!
> 
> So, I did it again.... it seems the fic will now be 9 chapters long, not 8. At this rate, I'm going to end up writing 20 chapters lol. If I had been so comitted with my essays as I am with this fic, I would have written two thesis during college haha. That's the magic of fanfiction I guess.

_You were gone longer than usual. I thought you had died. Your return is unexpected but not unwelcome. Any companionship other than the one this sun-adoring moron offers would be greatly appreciated, even if it's just that of a raven._

The crestfallen thought as he stared into the bonfire's dancing flames. He looked at the sunlight warrior from the corner of his eye and saw him looking at the giant raven with the same amazement as if it was an ancient dragon of legend.

It was not the reaction he had expected from him.

Ravens were harbingers of ill omens.

It was common knowledge among the habitants of the land, whether they were living or Undead.

Why then, did the sun praising knight appeared to be so in awe at the sight of the approaching bird?

The crestfallen warrior pondered on the question.

Could it be that the knight was like him and that he too refused to believe such stupid superstition could hold even the slightest speck of truth?

After a moment of reflection, the answer became obvious.

"No." He rolled his eyes and shook his head. The bonfire's sizzling murmur became more pronounced at the touch of the blows of wind coming from the raven's wings. "He's just a childish idiot."

A tired sigh followed his faintly amused chuckle.

Though annoyed, the crestfallen warrior found no real reason to be angry at the sunlight warrior for his easily impressed disposition.

Perhaps, he thought, this time he could be more forgiving and allow the other his moment of wonder.

Giant ravens were not a common sight in Lordran, and he could understand, though not share, the appeal such creature could have for some, especially for fools like the sunlight knight.

The crestfallen warrior may have shared the same reaction when he had first gazed upon Firelink Shrine's raven long ago. It was not probable, but nothing in Lordran was impossible.

Whatever his original reaction had been, the crestfallen warrior had to admit the constant presence of the raven in the shrine had soon transformed the bird's novelty into a boring routine.

The same had happened with the countless of fools the raven insisted on bringing to Firelink Shrine from Northern Asylum. The crestfallen warrior had learned none of them was worthy of a warm welcome or much of his attention.

Some Hollowed, some disappeared without a trace, but none accomplished something relevant in their pitiful existences.

In that sense, they were no different from him.

"But I'm still here." The warrior said with an emotionless smile. "I do nothing, I am nothing, but I'm still alive. As alive as an Undead can be."

That fact alone had made him realize that such existence was the best fate any Undead could ever achieve.

Fabled prophecies of glory and purpose were little more than fairy tales only the lost and the foolish believed in.

The crestfallen warrior couldn't remember, but as much as it shamed him, he knew he most likely had been the same long ago. It was a fortune that Lordran had taught him better and helped him open his eyes.

He was thankful. The experience had not been gentle nor kind, but it had been necessary and humbling.

His gratefulness for the way reality had shown its crudeness to him was great enough for him to wish to share his wisdom with others.

Few of the newcomers sought his help, and even fewer appreciated the knowledge he imparted, but the crestfallen warrior didn't care for the glares of disgust and hatred his honest words earned him.

It wasn't his fault most of the Undead, especially those who came from the Asylum, lacked the courage or intelligence necessary to understand his words.

_This deed of mine is thankless indeed._

The crestfallen warrior took a deep breath and exhaled it through his nostrils.

_But as long as someone is willing to hear, I'll be here to help. It's not as if I had something better to do anyway. Firelink Shrine is as dull as it is peaceful._

He turned his head and looked at the giant raven.

_Well then, let's meet the new wretched twit you brought this time. At the very least, I'm sure he or she cannot be as unbearably annoying as—_

For the first time in ages, his eyes opened wide in fear.

The raven was diving directly towards him, its wings spread but completely still, as if a freezing spell had been casted upon them.

With a nimbleness he thought he had long lost, the crestfallen warrior dodged the raven just before one of its wings hit him. Black feathers grazed against his face as he pulled himself backwards.

He fell on his back and remained paralyzed in shock until he heard the echo of the raven crashing against the shrine's stone columns.

The inertia of the clash faded and the raven's body collapsed. Its final landing shook the earth.

Legs trembling, the crestfallen warrior stood up, his hazy mind still trying to make sense of what had happened.

It had been too long since he had last experienced true chaos and conflict. It took that brief taste of both to make him realize how bitter they were and how little he had missed them.

As he clumsily walked towards the raven, the crestfallen warrior found himself longing for the peace that just a few moments ago he had taken for granted.

A part of him feared it had been taken away from him forever.

"You poor thing." He said, his voice devoid of sentiment. He knelt next to the dying raven. With a gentleness he thought had long departed his body, he rested one hand on top of the bird's blood-soaked feathers.

He caressed them.

It came to him it was the first time he did so.

Both him and the raven had spent what felt like ages in Firelink Shrine, but the giant bird had never wandered close to him, and the crestfallen warrior had never tried to catch its attention.

The companionship between them, if it could even be called that, had always been shallow and mundane, like the one a shadow offers to the body that casts it.

"And yet, you were always here."

The raven didn't react to his words or touch. Shudders of pain came together with its every breath.

Steadily, its panting became slower.

With little fanfare, it stopped completely.

The crestfallen warrior stared at the raven's corpse. It vanished from existence like dust into the wind.

A single feather damp with blood remained trapped in the warrior's hand. It was the only trace the raven left of its passing through world.

The crestfallen warrior gazed at it. Something in his eyes changed.

The change lasted too little for him to notice it, and before he knew it, everything went back to normal.

All around him and within him returned to its previous state, so unchanged by the raven's sudden demise that it was easy for him to pretend it hadn't occurred at all.

"Meaningless." He said, clenching the hand holding the feather. "All of us are. That will never—"

"Hey, come quickly!"

His personal musings perished at the hands of the intrusive voice of the sunlight warrior.

Silently, the crestfallen warrior secured the feather on his belt.

"He's badly injured. We have to—" The sunlight knight's tone sharpened with stress at the null attention the crestfallen warrior showed him. "Are you listening to me? He needs our help!"

The crestfallen warrior continued to pay no mind to his questions or pleas, and as casually as if he had just gone to a corner to relieve himself, he returned to his usual spot in front of the bonfire.

Watching the fire dance around the coiled sword had always been a source of comfort. Now, when he looked at it, it felt empty.

_Nothing's changed._

He heard the knight's voice again into the distance. To his ears, it was no more relevant or meaningful than the buzzing of a gnat.

_Then, why does everything feel different?_

His fear from before rekindled with a burning force that transformed any other thought in his mind into ashes.

Somehow, he knew.

The raven and the Undead it had brought with it had broken something beyond repair.

Peace would never truly return to Firelink Shrine.

Somehow, he was sure.

_Perhaps all this time I was wrong._

Even when he had no reason or need to do so, he smiled.

_And superstitions have more truth in them than I had thought._

* * *

Anger was not familiar to Solaire.

In the rare occasions it manifested within him, the effects were short and left no trace of resentment in his heart; but at that moment, the sullen warrior was making a formidable job at testing the limits of his patience.

Solaire had laughed off his rudeness without second thoughts.

He had understood and accepted the annoyance the other so obviously felt towards him without ill feelings.

Even if the warrior had outright offended him with the worst of insults or petty displays of aggression, Solaire would have forgiven him.

He had learned no good ever came from replying to that kind of treatment with violence. The mockery of others was not easy to bear, and forgiveness and understanding often proved to be twice as difficult to grant; but in the end, Solaire was always willing to bet for this harder path, if not for the good of those who offended him, then for the sake of his own honor and peace of mind.

So far in his life, he had remained true and loyal to his code. Though not unwilling or afraid to retaliate against anyone who threatened his life, Solaire had never done so out of an emotional outburst.

No one had ever driven him to the deep end of real anger.

No one except for the sullen warrior.

"What's wrong with you?" Solaire spat at him. "Are you really not going to help him?"

The raw anger in Solaire's voice had no effect on the other. The crestfallen simply kept staring into the fire without a care in the world.

Solaire's stare transformed into a piercing glare. He had heard of the ruthless and unsettling indifference common in most Undead, but he hadn't expected to witness it so early on his journey.

Deep inside his heart, he had hoped the rumors were just the ignorant blabber of those who despised all the Undead. To see his expectations and hopes betrayed so cynically shook something within him, leaving him trapped between disappointment and a reluctance to accept that an indifference so cruel could truly exist in the world.

A violent coughing fit freed Solaire from his thoughts. It came not from him, but from the knight in his arms.

The raven had dropped the injured knight on Solaire without previous warning. Solaire had barely had time to react and catch him before the raven's flight lost all its balance and direction.

The act had not been gentle for either Solaire or the knight.

His arms still stung from the knight's weight having being so brusquely thrown into him. It had been by pure chance that his shoulders hadn't snapped from their joints. There was also a lingering pain traveling his back like a wild spark.

Distracting as it was, Solaire kept his discomfort to himself. He had no right to complain, not when the knight in his arms had wounds that put Solaire's injuries to shame.

The worst of them all was the sword deeply stuck on his lower belly. Solaire had not dared to touch it, even less tried to pull the weapon off. First, he needed to restore the knight's health with Estus as much as possible.

Only after the elixir had cured most of his wounds and restored a large portion of his strength would Solaire attempt to remove the weapon from his body. Otherwise, the process would likely prove lethal for the knight.

Solaire dreaded the moment when he would have to make the knight undergo that agonizing part of his healing.

He took a deep breath and turned his back on the burning resentment he held for the uncaring sullen warrior and the dreadful image of the sword's removal. He had not time for petty feelings or fear of the future, not when the knight the raven had entrusted to him was in dire need of his help.

With a renewed conviction and a clearer mind, Solaire held the knight firmly, decided to offer stability to his body until his coughing fit passed.

_By the gods._

Solaire gasped when he looked at the knight's face with more caution. By instinct, one of Solaire's hands jolted directly to the handle of his sheathed sword.

There was no doubt about it.

The knight's features were half Hollow.

Who was to say it was not the same case with his mind?

The blade of his sword began to emerge from the sheath.

He could take no risks, not with a Hollow. For the sake of the land, Solaire knew he had to strike him down before he got out of control and hurt someone.

"Why? Chosen Undead."

Solaire recoiled at the knight's voice. It was difficult to imagine it came from a man and not a demon.

"Chosen Undead. Why did you—"

His voice broke into a pitiful whimper before he could finish.

Solaire felt his heart soften. Not with little shame, he retreated his hand from his sword.

The knight, despite his appearance, was not Hollow. Solaire was sure of it.

Hollows couldn't speak with coherence, and even if they could, no Hollow would be able to show the wrenching sentiment that drenched the knight's words.

_Fate has not been kind to you._

Solaire thought as the knight kept muttering questions and laments he couldn't wholly understand. Even if he didn't comprehend the context of his pain, Solaire could clearly see how real and cutting it was for the knight.

That was reason enough for Solaire to offer him his help again, this time without a trace of doubt.

"It's alright." Solaire said, gently putting the knight down on the ground. He held one of the knight's hands in an attempt to comfort him while he searched for his Estus Flask. To his surprise, the knight reacted to his touch and held his hand with a tight grip that was close to being painful. "You're safe now."

Solaire only tried to free his hand once he managed to find the flask. The knight, with his eyes firmly shut and twitching as if he was trapped in a profound nightmare, breathed heavily when he felt Solaire's hand trying to depart his.

He struggled to keep it from happening, but he was too weak to present any real resistance.

"Chosen Undead." The knight muttered. His hoarse voice was twisted with delirium. "Chosen Undead."

"You're going to be alright, my friend." Solaire said, wishing he had more soothing words to offer. He put a hand behind the knight's head and began to lift it closer to the flask. "Now drink."

The knight's eyes sprung open. It happened so quickly that it caught Solaire off guard. To his surprise, the eye on the Hollowed half of the knight's face was normal. There was as much color and life in it as in its counterpart.

They glistened as the knight stared at Solaire in disbelief.

_You're not Hollow._

Solaire smiled back, not wanting to further disconcert the confused knight with a pronounced frown or an expression of shock in his face.

_Far from it._

"Now now, there's nothing to be afraid of, I'm here to help you. We may both be Undead, but I won't let you die. You have my word."

Solaire's smile froze in his lips when the knight wrapped his fingers around one of his metal bracelets.

"You." The knight said. His expression turned hopeful, almost happy. It brought great relief to Solaire, but it vanished when just a second after, the knight's face darkened with dismay. "No, it's not you. It's not you."

"Easy, don't force yourself." Solaire insisted, trying his best to keep the knight calm. "I know you're in pain but try to relax. You'll be back in one piece in a heartbeat; otherwise, my name's not—"

"Chosen Undead! It's not you!"

"Stop! What are you—"

The knight's palm hit Solaire in the bridge of his nose. Though not overly painful, the blow blinded Solaire's eyes with tears and disoriented him, almost making him lose his grip on his Estus Flask.

Blood began to flow from his nostrils and leak into his mouth. Solaire hissed, covering his face with his free hand. It was not until his fingers touched his nose that he realized what the contact implied.

"Wait, no!" Solaire stood up.

He wiped his reflexive tears with a sweep of his forearm and saw the knight wandering about aimlessly with graceless but surprisingly swift steps as he screamed and looked for the one he had mistaken Solaire for.

"Chosen Undead! Chosen Undead!" The knight ran in the opposite direction and tripped over with a broken stone tile.

Solaire gasped, convinced the knight would fall on his chest and further impale himself with the sword in his belly. He had no time to look away or close his eyes.

Fate must have showed pity on the delirious knight, and rather than hitting the floor with his body, he managed to put his hands between him and the ground. The contained force of the aborted impact took its toll on his body, and despite his crazed efforts to get back on his feet, the knight remained stiff on his knees.

Yet, his screams continued, each louder than the last, each containing the same words.

"Chosen Undead!"

Solaire clenched his jaw.

What had happened to the knight to break him to that extent?

What horrors did Lordran hold to transform men into uncaring warriors like the crestfallen?

The questions sparked another feeling in his heart, one rarer than anger and resentment. It manifested not as a reaction but as more questions.

What did Lordran have in store for Solaire?

What would it transform him into?

Solaire's stare became a mournful frown. The sight of the kneeling knight still crying for the person he missed brought tears to his eyes again, not as a reflex, but as result of his emotions.

He would have shed them freely and without shame had it not been for the interference of the crestfallen warrior.

"You're truly useless, aren't you? Can't even get rid of a single Hollow." The crestfallen warrior said, wielding a longsword in his right hand. "And to think I at least hoped you made up for your stupidity with brute force and skill. Pathetic; and now, you've left me no choice than to strike this wretched creature down myself. I should have known it would end up like this."

With a vigor that didn't match the stiffness of his tone, the crestfallen warrior raised his sword with his two hands right above the knight's head.

"It couldn't have been any other way."

The longsword came down with a whistle as it cut the air in a horizontal slash. Sparks and not blood exploded from the blade when it clashed against Solaire's sunlight straight sword.

The metal of both weapons clanked as their wielders looked at each other.

"Really now, defending a Hollow? Ah, and crying for it as well. See, that's the problem with you Warriors of Sunlight. You are all a bunch of emotional imbeciles, but you... you are beyond ridiculous."

"Quiet!" Solaire raised his sword and broke the weapons' contact. The crestfallen warrior took two forced steps back before he regained his balance. "First you refuse to help this man when he was in need, and now you're trying to kill him? You're more despicable than I thought. He's not Hollow, you know it as well as I do! Stop making up excuses for your cowardice."

"Not Hollow? Look at his face, listen to his voice, see his behavior. He's beyond salvation, and clearly in so much pain. Who knows, perhaps by killing him, we would be helping him. Is that not the creed of your covenant, sunlight knight? To aid those who are in dire need? Oh, woe is me, to have come across the most incompetent member of that legion of fools."

"Enough." Solaire put himself between the knight and the sullen warrior. "I care not for the insults and assertions of a broken washout like you, but I won't let you hurt this man. Put down your sword and I shall do the same, but if a stubborn beast you'll be, I will not hold back."

Solaire kept an unfaltering defensive stance and stood as tall as he could, hoping the crestfallen would back down in intimidation.

He had grown to hate him, but the last Solaire wanted was to be the perpetrator of unnecessary violence and death. To taint a sanctuary like Firelink Shrine with blood spilled in battle felt almost like a sin, an offense so grand that it would not go unpunished by the gods or fate.

It was one thing to kill mindless Hollows. In his short existence as an Undead, Solaire had already eliminated his fair share; but to strike down a fellow sentient Undead was an experience new to him, one he had never thought he would have to face.

_We are no longer bound to the aggressions of the living. We are all Undead here. The Darksign branded in our flesh makes us all the same. What good could come from fighting each other? What are the both of us even fighting about?_

"Such nonsense." Solaire muttered, relaxing his muscles. "Please, let's stop this now. There's no need for any of this. I'm sure you feel the same."

"No need, you say?" The crestfallen warrior laughed earnestly. For a moment, Solaire could see traces of the man the warrior had once been before Lordran had transformed him into an empty husk. "Of course there's no need for this. There's no need for anything, really. We Undead have no need or meaning at all, yet we still are. Our hearts have no need to beat, yet they still do. Our actions have no purpose or relevance, yet fools like you are obsessed with justifying them with ideals and creeds that signify nothing. Meaningless, all of it."

Solaire frowned as the sullen warrior's cackle died down.

"Do not misunderstand. I do not wish to kill that pitiful Hollow out of duty or honor. I've abandoned such childish ideas long ago. He annoys me. I want him gone, that's all there is to it."

The crestfallen warrior readied his stance. Solaire replied with the same gesture.

"And to tell you the truth, I feel the same about you. And something tells me..." the warrior smirked, "you feel the same about me. Do you not, knight of sunlight?"

Solaire didn't answer.

The two warriors remained trapped in a tense silence that was abruptly broken by the clash of their swords.

Neither knew who attacked first, but they shared an identical thought that rang inside them as the toll of a bell.

_I shall not be defeated by the likes of you._

* * *

It was the raging duel between the two men which finally snapped Oscar out of his trance.

He stared at them, first with indifference, then with anguish.

The more he watched, the more he wondered if he and the Chosen Undead had looked the same during their fraudulent battle.

The memory of the Undead stung his heart as much as it hurt his body. His wounds numbed by his delirium pulsated with renewed fervor.

Oscar screamed, but his cry was lost to the echoes of the dance of swords of the warriors. It didn't take long for their blood to spill on the ash covered floor.

_They're going to kill each other._

"No." Oscar said, his voice so low that it was imperceptible to his own ears.

The memory of how he had viciously enjoyed attacking the Undead flashed so vividly before his eyes that Oscar swore he was back at the Asylum.

_They'll die because of me._

Just like the Undead and the many other residents of the Asylum had.

"Stop it."

He tried to stand up, but an incapacitating pain kept his knees glued to the ground.

Oscar's hands traveled down to the coiled sword on his belly. He held it tightly, making his body twitch in agony at the slightest movement.

He swallowed, his arms trembling in fear of what he was about to do.

_Never again._

He started to pull the sword out. The skin and flesh he destroyed countered by sending him a wave of pain that threatened to drive him to absolute madness.

He clenched his jaw, his teeth creaked at the pulverizing pressure.

Pain evolved to a level unknown to Oscar. It bit, burn, tear, and stung simultaneously.

He screamed again, unable to focus his strength on any other task than the removal of the coiled sword.

_Chosen Undead._

The scorched metal emerged from his body covered in his blood.

_You did this to me._

The sound it made as it abandoned his body was no less sickening than the aftertaste his bile and blood left in his mouth.

_You died so I could live._

Oscar's sight had started to become pitch black just before the last broken ends of the coiled sword left his body with the muffled and gory murmurs of tearing meat.

_And I can never forgive myself for it. So please, you two..._

"STOP!" Oscar exclaimed, smashing the coiled sword against a stone tile.

His roar was followed by complete silence.

Oscar lifted his face. The cold sweat on his forehead dripped down to his chin and reflected the bonfire's glow.

Shaking with a spreading fever, Oscar looked at the two warriors.

The one with the blond hair neatly tied in a ponytail stared at Oscar with his mouth agape. He stood still, his sunlight straight sword resting on one of his defeated opponent's shoulders.

The other warrior, brought down to his knees, looked at Oscar with no less bewilderment.

"Please, no more." Oscar said, one of his hands covering the bleeding hole the coiled sword had left on his body, while the other struggled to support his weight. "I don't want anyone else to die because of me. All this violence, all this suffering... It's not worth it. I'm not worth it. I beg of you, don't do this. Just—"

_Stop._

His strength abandoned him. He fell on his right side and landed on a pool of his blood.

He saw a fading silhouette looking down at him with palpable concern.

Oscar felt the warm touch of Estus being poured on his belly wound. He thought he then felt the elixir's taste on his dry mouth, but by then Oscar had retreated too deep inside his mind to be aware of what was happening to him.

He didn't care anymore.

He doubted he ever again would.

* * *

"Why?" The darkness swallowed their laments. Just like in life, no answer or comfort was ever offered in return. "Why does it never end?"

"Ah, I was wrong. You're not the bearer of the Dark Soul. I should have known it was too good to be true." A voice said to them. "Still, you have his same scent. Could this poor soul truly be his descendant? I must say I expected much better from his bloodline."

"Why?"

"Ah, so you're awareness has not abandonded you."

"Why can't I go Hollow?"

"What are you saying, you deplorable creature?"

"Make me go Hollow. Erase me from existance. I don't care what you do to me, but please, make it all stop."

"You sorry fool. You were cursed to existance the moment you were born into the world. That's something not even us primordial serpents can change. If it is of any comfort to you, I'll let you know you are completely Hollow. Judging by the state of your soul, you have been for a long time."

"I'm... Hollow?"

"Indeed. In fact, you're Hollowing is deeper than any other I've seen before; yet, your mind remains clear and strong." The creature hummed after a pensive pause. "Perhaps, just perhaps, there's a glimmer of potential in you."

The endless darkness morphed into a fleshy and toothy cavity that engulfed them whole.

"I know not yet what use I can make of you, but to let you wander aimlessly for all time in this abyss would be a waste. Rest now,young Hollow. Rest your soul and leave your fate to Darkstalker Kaathe."

"I'm Hollow."

They laughed as the jaws of the serpent closed and trapped them in a new darkness warm with life and heavy with stench.

What should have felt like a curse was nothing but pure bliss.

Not only were they truly Hollow, but the serpent's mouth had also offered them something life never had.

Answers, and above all, peace.

_So this was my fate all along. I could ask for nothing more. Wherever you are, I know you're feeling the same as me right now._

The Undead closed their eyes and smiled.

_Right, Oscar?_


	7. Fading Sunlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, longest chapter so far, also the one with most dialogue. I hope you all enjoy the chapter regardless :) Criticism is welcome. And now, some shocking and completely unexpected news... I added one more chapter to the total count. I swear, this fic has life of its own lol.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to MrsLittleTall, PanDeTorao and RiriRules4Ever for all the awesome comments! My fic would be nothing without all your support!

_The Bearer of the Dark Soul._

_The Furtive Pygmy._

_The easily forgotten fourth lord._

_The father of humanity._

_If we were to get sentimental, we could say that he still lives in all of you, the sad creatures he left behind._

_He does not._

_He is gone._

_He forsook you._

_His reasons were his alone._

_Perhaps he feared his creation and ran away._

_Perhaps he grew tired of his existence among his kin and took his own life._

_Or perhaps he merely got killed and died._

_Whatever the cause, he is gone._

_He is not coming back._

_When I saw you floating aimlessly across the darkness like driftwood after a storm, I dared to think the opposite._

_I was hopeful._

_And so very naïve._

_It was a moment of weakness, bred after dozens of disappointments._

_It won't happen again._

_I've grown stronger and wiser from the experience._

_I also have you with me now._

_Among all his kin, you share his blood._

_It should make you special, but you are vulgar beyond forgiveness._

_His blood has kept you sane even after Hollowing._

_It should be a blessing, but to you it has always been nothing but a curse._

_When I taste your flesh, I taste only regret and loneliness._

_When I peek into your memories, I see only emptiness._

_When I listen to your heart, I hear only pity._

_Not for others._

_Only for yourself._

_Worthless._

_That's all you think you've been for the world._

_You are correct._

_You wasted all your life dwelling on your own trivial suffering._

_Other than dying constantly like a clumsy fool, you did nothing._

_Never for you, even less for anyone else._

_Little Hollow, I admit I am doubting my decision._

_You are way too useless._

_You are sane, but you are empty._

_There is no passion in you._

_You're not like other Hollows, but one as lacking as you cannot be my Dark Lord._

_The Pygmy's blood means nothing when it's wasted on you._

_I'm not angry._

_You humans know no better._

_But a primordial serpent should._

_And now, here I am, fooled twice by my own desperation... It seems my search for the Dark Lord has been more exhausting than I had thought._

Kaathe grunted and waited for a reply.

Though disappointed, he was willing to give the Hollow a chance to defend themselves.

The Hollow rested still on his tongue.

He wondered if they had heard his speech.

The silence they gave him made him realize they were deep asleep.

They had been since he had started talking.

_Lowly fool. What use did I ever think I could make out of someone like you?_

Kaathe opened his mouth, eager to rid himself of the failure he had allowed inside him.

_Wander in nothingness for all eternity, miserable wretch._

Then, he felt it.

A dream.

A memory, one so strong that it spread a sickening sweetness on his tongue.

_What is this?_

Kaathe snapped his mouth closed as he tried not to choke on his saliva.

_This memory. Is this a dream of yours, little Hollow? Can Hollows dream at all?_

Intrigued, Kaathe closed his eyes and stared into the Hollow's essence.

He expected to see images of lost memories. Memories of dreams and happiness, of pain and torture.

Instead, all he saw was the image of a knight looking down at him from above.

_A shallow and irrelevant memory from a shallow and irrelevant Hollow. Yet, this insignificant scene ignites a burning motivation within you. You took this tiny thing and made it your all._

Kaathe's laughter mixed with Frampt's distant sleep talking.

_If the Pygmy could look at you, he would see himself in you._

Together, they became an ominous melody that resonated across the abyss.

_And smile._

* * *

After many attempts, the best the sunlight knight could offer Oscar as a resting position had been a half sitting posture against the shrine's old tree.

The stone steps did nothing to give Oscar any more repose, as they kept his legs irregularly placed on the ground; the tree's bark was also riddled with splinters, many of which had found their way through Oscar's chainmail.

At the very least, the spot had proven to be a good place to receive the bonfire's heat without it becoming overbearing.

The sunlight knight had apologized to Oscar dozens of times for not being able to find him a better location to rest and heal.

Oscar had listened to his explanations but had said nothing in return.

He had remained so still and silent that he could have passed as one of the tree's many overgrown roots.

Yet, for a reason Oscar didn't care to discover, the sunlight knight insisted on talking to him.

"Friend, look what I found!"

The always happy knight knelt in front of him and placed a shield on Oscar's lap.

"This belongs to you, doesn't it? I could tell the moment I saw it! Let me tell you, it wasn't easy getting it back from that little bald man who found it before me. What was his name again? Preaches, I think?"

The knight scratched his chin and arched an eyebrow, trying hard to refresh his memory. After a while, he shrugged.

"Oh well, his name's not important anyway. He made me pay him quite the sum for it, all while claiming he was offering me a bargain exclusive to the Warriors of Sunlight. He called it a _'jolly discount'_. I swear, the gall of some people. I told him off on his shameful behavior, of course. I'm sure he'll see reason and change his ways from now on. He promised me he would. He even thanked me; can you believe it? Then again, he only did so after I paid him so... Damn."

He laughed.

The sound of his laughter was by then as familiar to Oscar as the sight and warmth of Firelink Shrine's bonfire.

As always, Oscar said nothing.

Slowly, he moved his eyes from the distant nothingness he had been staring at for what felt like ages and looked at the knight.

His name returned to him the moment he saw his face.

_Solaire._

The word tried escaped his lips, but it died as a thought.

The memories following Oscar's awakening after his fainting were hazy with fever and corrupted by pain.

The only constant and clear aspect about them was Solaire himself.

He had washed Oscar's face and hair with the same care he had cleaned and bandaged the only injury the Estus hadn't fully healed.

The wound left by the coiled sword was finally starting to scar, but the new skin was tender and carried traces of its rough and merciless cauterization.

That had been the crestfallen warrior's doing.

The crestfallen had acted without saying something beforehand. He had merely walked towards Oscar and pushed Solaire out of his way after the Estus had failed to stop the bleeding.

All Oscar could remember was the burning bite of the crestfallen's sword, glowing red with the bonfire's heat, as it seared his wound closed.

The smell of his flesh and muscles being carbonized was still vivid in Oscar's memory. He doubted it would ever go away.

"Fire burns fire." The crestfallen had said mockingly under his breath as he looked at Oscar like he was a rabid dog getting sacrificed. "My debt to you is paid."

He had barely had the time to finish the sentence before Solaire had forced him to back off with a punch in the jaw.

How Oscar had endured that last agony without Hollowing or how the incident hadn't resulted in another duel to the death between the two warriors was something he couldn't remember.

_Why?_

The question echoed in his mind.

_Why have I not Hollowed?_

There was no answer.

_Chosen Undead._

Solaire's eternal smile waned.

Oscar didn't care to figure out what emotion his eyes conveyed to make the knight's lose his radiant optimism

His thoughts had become his entire world.

Everything else held no importance for him.

"I know, I know. I talk too much, don't I?" Solaire said with a friendly tone. Oscar saw right through his façade but kept silent and unresponsive.

Other than his slow breathing, he gave no signs of life, not even after Solaire helped him place his hands on top the Crest Shield.

"You want some alone time to rest, I know you do. If you need anything, just let me know, alright? Don't worry, I'll be right here. Say, how about I prepare us some Estus soup? Sounds good, right? Hey, don't judge before you try it! It's a recipe I picked from a knight of Catarina I met before arriving here. A fine man he was, though he did have the tendency to fall asleep even during conversation. I wonder where he is now. Hopefully he—"

"By the lords, you really love to hear yourself talk. Are you sure you didn't drive that onion knight to suicide? Because the more I listen to you, the more attractive that cliff over there looks. I bet that Hollow vegetable feels the same... if that thing is still capable of feeling anything at all."

Oscar heard the crestfallen warrior laugh at his own taunts.

"By the last time, he's—" Solaire said without looking at the crestfallen.

Not without effort, he bit his tongue and closed his eyes before taking a deep breath.

When he opened them again, they were free of anger.

"Don't listen to him." He said, patting Oscar on the shoulder. "He knows not what he's talking about. You are an Undead just like me, alright?"

Solaire stood up.

Oscar didn't follow him with his eyes to see where he was going.

His whole attention was fixed on the shield resting on his lap.

One of his fingers tried to trace the crest imprinted on the surface, but he stopped when it met one of the many marks the Hollows' shower of arrows had left behind.

_Chosen Undead._

Oscar clenched his hands, hiding his fingers from the dents as if they were cursed runes.

What had at first felt like nostalgia for having his beloved shield returned to him turned into dread. He wished to throw the object as far from him as possible, but his mind had become disconnected from his body.

With no other way to escape, Oscar closed his eyes. He gained the appearance of a noble knight resting peacefully after a day of dutiful work.

_This shield once belonged to an elite knight of Astora, to a noble man that once thought himself good and worthy._

He chuckled in his mind.

Nothing could be farther from what he really was, from what he had become.

From what he had always been.

_And always will be._

The thought threatened to sink him into deeper darkness, but a memory that always found its way to his soul casted an intruding light that forced Oscar back to sanity.

_Chosen Undead._

For the first time since he had woken up, he felt his heart racing inside his chest.

_What you meant back there, when you said you hated me... I get it now. At this moment, I hate you for the same reason. It's a shame that, unlike you, my gratitude does not outgrow my resentment._

The scar on his belly beat and burned like a second heart made of fire. The weight of the shield was heavier than an anvil.

_This is the kind of man I am. I warned you, didn't I? And yet, you saved me. It was your mistake, not mine._

He repeated the last part of his thought over and over, unsure of what he wanted to accomplish, but hoping it would grant him peace at last.

Even if he didn't deserve it at all.

* * *

"Once the Estus is hot, add two purple mosses... or was it three red mosses? It might as well be a leaf of green blossom."

Solaire used a stick to remove the pot from the bonfire. He stared at it the same way a novice squire inspects a new weapon.

_Curses, Siegmeyer made it look so easy when he prepared it! Why am I such a useless cook? I even burn the water when I try to—Alright, calm down Solaire, it's just some soup. Don't let it get to you._

"Of course! The next ingredient is clear!" Solaire exclaimed. He improvised and searched inside the pouch hanging from his waist. "And a little of touch of... a white soapstone. Oh dear, perhaps just a little dip. There!"

After putting his beloved item back in its place, Solaire looked at the fallen knight.

"It's almost ready, friend. This soup is bound to soothe your scar and lift your spirits, you'll see. The flavor might be a bit peculiar, but given its benefits, it shouldn't be that big of a problem."

The knight gave no signs of having heard him. His chin was glued to his chest, his arms so limply resting on top of his shield that Solaire began to wonder if he had made a mistake by returning it to the knight in the first place.

Solaire had been sure that seeing his precious and extremely rare Crest shield returned to him would make the knight feel better.

In Solaire's mind, the action had been logical.

It had never been his intention to bring his spirits lower, if that was even possible.

Had he acted too rashly?

Was the shield a part of the knight's past he wished to forget?

Solaire cursed himself for not having considered neither of those questions beforehand. It wasn't the first time he allowed his heart to cloud his better judgement, nor the only occasion he had caused unintended sorrow on those he wished to help.

He sighed as he stirred the soup with a wooden spoon.

_Perhaps I'm really just an annoying fool._

Once the elixir had cooled a bit, Solaire poured half of the portion into his empty Estus Flask.

_We are Undead. I know well we don't need to eat; we may do so to heal ourselves or boost our strength, but to do it merely for the pleasure of it is foolish. Siegmeyer said so himself. He laughed it off and so did I. Right now, I fail to see what was so amusing about it at all._

He would feed the knight his share first and save his portion for later. A sudden twitch in his stomach had made him lose his appetite.

After some more thought, Solaire decided he would pass on the meal. He realized he was more tired than he had imagined, and rather than food, he craved for a moment of rest.

He wondered if the crestfallen warrior would want to drink his portion of soup in his stead.

Solaire frowned at the idea.

The mere thought of the sullen man was enough to sour his mood; still, Solaire had grown sick of the constant and unresolved tension looming over them. Perhaps it had been foolish of him to think things could be any better between them.

They had battled each other to the death.

Solaire had come out victorious, and had it not been for the interference of the fallen knight, Solaire wouldn't have hesitated to take the crestfallen's life. As much as he despised senseless violence and death, he was a Warrior of Sunlight.

If he engaged into battle, there was no going back, not unless he wished to lose his honor as a man and knight.

Solaire casted the memories of the incident away from his mind.

He had never been one to enjoy dwelling on the past, especially if the memories were difficult to deal with.

He could do nothing to change the way things had unfolded, but there was one thing he could do. He could find a way to ease the enmity festering among him, the crestfallen warrior and the fallen knight.

If offering the crestfallen warrior some Estus soup proved to be a chance for a new start, Solaire was willing to give it a try.

It was settled.

After feeding the fallen knight his share, Solaire would offer the crestfallen his own portion.

Solaire knew the other was more likely to spat on his face than to accept the food, even less thank him for it.

It didn't matter. Slim as it was, there was a chance everything would turn out for the better.

_I'll see about that later. For now, it's not him I care about._

Solaire thought as he gave the knight's Estus soup a final shake in the flask.

_Senseless as eating is to any of us now, and stupid as I may be, I really hope this gesture can offer you some comfort, my friend. I know not what you've been through, but if I'm sure of something is that having a warm, peaceful meal near a fire is the least you deserve. And if I can help you with it, please let me try._

"What are you doing?"

Solaire almost gasped when the crestfallen's voice reached him. He looked over his shoulder and saw him standing behind him, tall and still as a statue.

Solaire stood up and backed away from him so swiftly that one of his feet almost steps into the bonfire's flame. He unsheathed his sword carefully so as not to spill a single drop of soup from the flask.

The crestfallen warrior laughed at him. It was the same hoarse and condescending chuckle that emerged from his chest every time Solaire did or said anything. He was not shy about directing the same insult to the fallen knight too, but there was something different about it when Solaire was the addressee.

It was a derogatory undertone that Solaire had heard many times before in his life but had yet to get used to. The sound was always a blow to his pride, a confirmation that what most people thought of him was indeed true.

"Did I scare you? Well, blame me not. If you didn't drift away inside your thoughts so easily like a simple fool, I wouldn't have caught you off guard. You better change this habit of yours fast; otherwise, your journey across Lordran will be a lot shorter than you expected."

He laughed again. Solaire held his sword and flask tightly enough for his knuckles to become white.

Though the barbed words of the crestfallen were upsetting, more so was Solaire's incapacity to understand his behavior.

Why did he insist on injecting so much venom into his words?

What did he expect to gain from insulting Solaire or humiliating the already defeated knight, the same man that had saved his life from Solaire's blade?

Was the crestfallen so unconcerned with his own life that he did not to fear Solaire at all, not even after the quick defeat he had suffered at his hands?

Was he so cruel that he felt no gratitude towards the fallen knight?

Solaire had pondered on those questions before, but never had they been so confusing to him as they were then, when they all came to him at once.

He discovered he wasn't nearly as angry as he was baffled.

"By the lords, don't look at me like that." The crestfallen said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I wasn't scolding you. I merely gave you a well-intentioned suggestion, a tip of survival. You don't have to get worked up about it as if we were a couple of immature squires quarreling over their lord's attention. I do not wish to fight you... I think we both already know how that would turn out."

Another laughter. This time not for Solaire, but for the crestfallen. It carried no less disdain for himself than it did for the fallen knight or Solaire.

Solaire dared to say it carried a lot more.

He looked away from the crestfallen warrior as he slowly sheathed his sword. If the other was honest and he did not seek a fight, neither would Solaire.

A duel only started after blades clashed. Until then, peace was still an option.

Solaire tried to pass the crestfallen by without further interaction, but he blocked his way.

"Wait. What's the hurry, anyway? Trust me, that rotten sack of bones and self-pity over there is not going anywhere."

"Don't call him that. You may be all of that and more, but he's not the same as you. Please, move aside."

"What else can I call him other than what he is? Just look at him."

"I do. Perhaps it's you who's looking but not seeing at all." Solaire tried to continue his way, but the crestfallen blocked him again. "I'll ask you again, move aside."

"What happened to the Warrior of Sunlight I met when he first arrived here? Where has he gone to? Don't tell me Lordran has unmasked the real you already... you haven't even left Firelink Shrine yet! Ah, no matter. I know when my company is unwanted." The crestfallen moved and spread an arm forward. "There, on your way. I wouldn't want the Hollow's soup to get cold. Gwyn forbid it!"

Solaire couldn't move his legs.

Instead, he stared at the crestfallen warrior, whose face was adorned with a pronounced version of his ever-sarcastic smirk.

"What do you mean by that?" Solaire asked, changing his position so that he and the crestfallen could see each other directly.

"By what? I mean all that I say and say all that I mean. I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

"About Lordran unmasking the real me." Solaire said, knowing the other man was only forcing him to say the words out loud.

"I meant exactly that; there's no need for an explanation."

Solaire's heart skipped a beat.

True, he had acted with more aggression towards the crestfallen than he had done with any other person in a long time; but it hadn't been without reason.

It wasn't that he had changed because of him, Solaire was merely showing him a part of himself he had seldom showed to anyone in his whole life.

At his core, Solaire was still the same man he had always been.

Nothing inside him had changed.

"If you are really in so much need for an explanation, I suppose I could give you one. Perhaps I was going too fast for you... don't you worry, I'll be sure to go slower next time, I know it can be hard for you to follow."

"Don't patronize me."

"Me? Never. What ever gave you that idea?" The crestfallen laughed. Solaire could only endure the jab in silence, as the crestfallen did not give him a chance to reply. "But first, answer my former question, sunlight knight. What are you doing?"

Solaire took a moment to answer, unsure of what the crestfallen expected to hear. If he had ever felt more confused and repulsed by a person before in his life, he couldn't recall.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Solaire said with a rudeness that felt foreigner to his tongue and ears. It shocked him and made him mellow his next words. "I made us some Estus soup."

_And by us, I mean me and the fallen knight. Not you._

Realizing how inconsiderate the implication was, Solaire knew he had to make quick work of correcting his statement. It also came to him that maybe this had been the source of the crestfallen's recent bitterness.

Solaire hadn't bothered to ask him if he wanted to some Estus soup. He hadn't done so to spite him, the idea simply hadn't crossed his mind, not until a few moments ago.

_Oh dear. Maybe I was too rude. This attitude is certainly not like me... could this be what this man means by saying I've changed? Did I really offend him so much by not offering him Estus soup? I never would have considered him to be so sensitive._

Unconsciously, Solaire relaxed his body.

_I was petty, I admit it. Still, I'm glad this conflict's origin is something as simple as some soup. How childish of us! Well, no matter. Now we can make amends._

"You can have some if you want." Solaire offered with a slight smile that, while not friendly, was polite.

It came to him it was the first time since their duel that he spoke to the crestfallen with a tone that was neither defensive nor indifferent. "Do you have an Estus flask with you? There's still a generous portion in the pot over there. Feel free to serve yourself as much as you like. If you don't have a flask, I can lend you mine... but first, let me feed the knight his portion before it gets cold. Trust me, Estus soup tastes horrible when—"

"No, knight of sunlight." The crestfallen warrior said. "I'm not talking about your Estus soup."

Solaire felt how his hopes of a peaceful truce burned down inside him.

"For the third time." The crestfallen continued. "What are you doing?"

Solaire was paralyzed.

Despite his inferior physical strength and build, the crestfallen warrior suddenly seemed much more imposing than him, like a colossi ready to stomp Solaire under his foot.

"I don't understand."

"Such a dimwit. Or perhaps you are in denial? Oh well, I'll rephrase the question to a more direct version. Why do you still linger here in Firelink Shrine?"

"What do you mean? You already know very well my reasons for being here." Solaire snapped at the crestfallen. He gave a quick glance to the fallen knight. "I'm helping him recover. I cannot just abandon him to his fate. As long as he needs my help, I'll remain by his side. It's my duty as a Warrior of Sunlight—"

"Spare me the pious declaration. You've repeated it so many times that I already know it by heart. Tell me, is this code of yours the only reason you refuse to leave this creature behind? Does he being your fellow Astoran has nothing to do with it?"

"How do you know we—"

"His armor, but even without it, his appearance and behavior betray him. The blue eyes, the blond hair, the stupid sentimentalism, the pretentious self-righteousness, the disturbing tendency to promptly get attached to others... all traits and flaws common in most Astorans."

Solaire flinched at the memory of his homeland. It would have brought tears to his eyes had the crestfallen wasn't so determined to counter his nostalgia with anger.

"Ah, Astora. Once a wondrous land, so rich in culture and power. So idealistic, with its brave knights and virtuous women, all eager to fulfill their fates and prove they are so special."

The crestfallen warrior looked at Solaire and smiled. He couldn't tell if he did so with pity or disgust.

"It's no wonder why you people transform so quickly into the most dreadful of Hollows. Your heads are so filled with ridiculous hopes and dreams that you cannot bear to see them coming undone by reality. You may act as if you could endure the worst adversities, and for a time, you do. Sadly, that strength of will is as brittle as your weak hearts. In the end, you all break, and when you do, you fall harder than the rest. I've seen so many Astorans share that fate, and from what I've seen, you and that wretch are no different."

"Enough! You're wrong about everything; about Astora and its people, and especially about me."

Solaire spoke with a fervent pride that made his blood rush to his entire body.

"When I help people, I couldn't care less if they hail from Astora, Carim, Thorolund, Catarina or nowhere at all. And even if I wasn't a Warrior of Sunlight, I'd still aid anyone in dire need! I didn't join the covenant to force myself into act this way, I did so because I agreed with its ideals and creed. If you think I'm helping this man simply because we share the same homeland or just out of a blind sense of duty to my covenant, you are not half as perceptive as you think you are."

For a second, Solaire felt victorious and strong, but neither emotion survived the disdainful scoff of the crestfallen.

"And here we have it! A perfect proof that everything I've said about Astorans is accurate!" He dedicated Solaire two soulless claps. "Aren't you selfless, almost a saint."

Solaire took a step back.

_What is this? This feeling... Why does this man—_

His hands trembled, soaking the one holding the flask with drops of lukewarm soup. He steadied his heart and body, but it proved to be close to impossible.

"Let's see." The crestfallen said without giving Solaire room to recover. "You are not helping that thing because you feel obliged by your covenant nor out of some sense of patriotism for a fellow Astoran. You linger here because you want to, because you are a good and kind man. Is this how it is, sun-adoring knight?"

Solaire didn't dare to say the answer out loud. As much as he dreaded all the crestfallen had said about him and his beloved homeland, his words had made Solaire too self-conscious of his beliefs and actions.

If he declared himself a good and kind man, would that make him honest or sanctimonious?

The answer used to be clear; now it was shrouded in the mist of doubt.

"Truth is you are neither." The crestfallen warrior said. "If anything, you are a liar."

"No!" Solaire exclaimed, desperate at how deep the jab had stung. "I've made many mistakes in my life, both as a man and a knight, but all I've said is true. I'm not—"

"If you weren't lying, then you would have answered my question the moment I asked it. And what was the first thing you did? You tried to lecture me again about those godforsaken Warriors of Sunlight, as if I was the one you needed to convince and not yourself. It seems to me you are now the one making excuses for your cowardice."

The crestfallen warrior jerked his arm. Less than a second after, Solaire felt the twisted and scorched metal of the coiled sword against his throat.

He tried to counter it, but the moment the crestfallen took a step closer to him, his strength faded.

"You're scared, Solaire." Hearing the crestfallen speak his name only served to increase his power over him. "Watching that Hollow's meltdown broke something within you. It was more than what your Astoran heart, sentimental by nature, indoctrinated by dreams and deluded by your covenant's creed, could endure. If Lordran could reduce an elite knight from your dear Astora to such a pathetic thing, what would it do to you?"

Solaire looked up at the sky. He saw not the sun, only gray clouds.

"Suddenly, the journey you were eager to begin became a monster you didn't dare to face. It came to you that, perhaps, Lordran was not the land of glory and heroism you always thought it was. You knew it, but you couldn't accept it. How could you when doing so would turn you Hollow?"

"I..." Solaire's voice broke inside his throat. Contrary to the warm touch of the coiled sword, the fragments of his voice were ice-cold.

"Instead, you remained here, embraced in the eternal safety of Firelink Shrine. And what better excuse to silence your conscience than to convince yourself you were doing it for that Hollow's sake. He is beyond salvation, he is never getting better, which means you would have to stay here by his side for all eternity. That's what you are really doing here Solaire, is it not?"

The Estus flask escaped from his hand. It shattered, splashing its content all over Solaire's and the crestfallen's metal boots.

Carefully, the crestfallen warrior retired the coiled sword from his neck.

Ashamed and defeated, Solaire fell to his knees.

There was a relief in hearing the truth he had tried to ignore finally being spoken out loud, but there was a greater embarrassment in it having come out from someone else's mouth and not his own.

"You're cruel." Solaire said with the only thread of voice he could muster. He thought about looking at the fallen knight for reassurance and support, but stopped, afraid that gazing at his defeated semblance would break his own spirit beyond repair. "Monstrous."

"So is Lordran. If you can't accept it, if this all so unbearable for you, then you have no place here. You might as well return home and be lynched by the living or lock yourself into the Asylum. Though given the latest turns of events," the crestfallen held the raven's feather in his fingers, "the latter is not an option anymore, unless you wish to embark on a pilgrimage all the way there by yourself; even then, something tells me that place is not what it was... and that he is to blame."

Solaire raised his head and looked at the crestfallen. He was staring at the fallen knight, his eyes brimming with resentment.

It was the first time Solaire saw real emotion in them.

"What are you talking about? You... you're wrong! That man is innocent, he'll always be unless you can prove otherwise."

"Oh, but I can." The crestfallen knelt in front of Solaire. He held the coiled sword in one hand and the raven's dried feather in the other. "I know not how he got himself impaled with the bonfire's sword, but I'm sure it wasn't something that happened by mere chance. Whatever he did at the Asylum, it was unnatural enough to change things."

Solaire listened to the crestfallen with attention, as if he was a minstrel telling the tale of a hero of old.

"Without the raven, there's no way for any Undead to arrive to Firelink Shrine from there. Without their coiled sword, all Asylum's bonfires have been snuffed out. I almost pity the poor deluded souls who dare to venture into that secluded place from now on... they would be better off offering themselves to the Abyss. I'm sure most of them will be Astorans. Well, serves them right. That's what they get for falling for that Undead prophecy nonsense in the first place."

"Many Astorans knights devote their entire lives to make themselves worthy of the fate foretold by the prophecy." Solaire said, his arms trembling. "It's their way of life, their greatest honor. They suffer, live and die for it. You don't know anything at all about them. You can mock me all you want, but I won't allow you to taint their beliefs and sacrifices with your empty insults!"

"Don' take your hate out on me. If you want to hate something, hate Astora. Hate all the old fools who brainwashed your fellow knights with that bogus; hate your peers for being so naïve and dependent on a fate fabricated by some unknown moron ages ago. If you live like idiots, it's only natural you all die a senseless—"

Solaire grabbed the crestfallen by the collar of his chainmail and dragged him closer to his face. The movement was brusque enough to make the crestfallen lose his grip on the sword and the feather.

Even then, when Solaire looked at his eyes, he saw no fear in them, only amusement.

_Don't you dare say anything else. Have you not humiliated me enough? Don't do it. Please, if you have any trace of humanity left in you..._

" _Thou who art Undead, art chosen._ " The crestfallen said. He grabbed Solaire's hands and pulled it away from him. He found no resistance. " _In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords. When thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the Undead thou shalt know."_

Solaire hid his eyes behind his hand. He did not see crestfallen's warrior smile, but he felt his arms surrounding his shoulders in a hollow imitation of an embrace.

He didn't reject it.

Empty as the gesture was, he found some comfort in it.

He really was just a sentimental fool.

"What beautiful verses. Perhaps I cannot blame others for being deceived by such enchanting words. In this world of darkness and desolation, we must hang on to the smallest glimmer of hope we can find, no matter how fake it may be."

_My sun._

Tears escaped Solaire. They were as silent as they were abundant.

The crestfallen dug his fingernails deep into Solaire's tunic. Had it not been by the chainmail underneath, they would have pierced cloth and flesh and make him bleed.

"Yet, they mention nothing about Gwyn's fire nor its linking, do they?" He whispered in Solaire's ear. "Either it's a verse this Hollow made up while immersed in his feverish dreams, or he is much more dangerous than he lets on. And I, for once, am eager to find the truth behind him once and for all. If I don't, I'm afraid I will go Hollow."

Solaire felt how the crestfallen held him closer.

"I wouldn't want that to happen. You could say I'm in dire need of some assistance."

The embrace had long stopped being gentle. Solaire knew he was trapped, and even if he escaped the crestfallen's arms, he would not be free.

"You wouldn't deny your help to a man as miserable as me, would you, Solaire? Oh, Firelink Shrine's kind and unyielding Warrior of Sunlight, aid me in this. Who knows? Maybe by helping me, you'll be helping yourself too. The choice, however, is yours."

Solaire answered the same way the fallen knight always did; with nothing but absolute silence.

Yet, the message was clear for the crestfallen warrior.

"Thank you. I knew that if I explained things to you, you would see reason. Maybe I was wrong."

He laughed.

"And not all Astorans are lost causes after all."

* * *

Oscar woke up from a thin sleep.

He looked at Solaire and the crestfallen warrior and saw them breaking their embrace.

The crestfallen was smiling.

Solaire was crying.

For the former he felt nothing, but the image of the latter sparked something in his soul.

Something that almost resembled sympathy and regret.

_But I can't feel neither. That's not the kind of man I really am._

He looked away, not wanting to burden his heart with the scene any longer.

_Right, Chosen Undead?_


	8. A silent storm, finally unleashed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! As always, I would like to thank everyone for reading/leaving kudos and to Mrs Littletall and RiriRule4Ever for the awesome comments! 
> 
> Welp, another long chapter. This one was quite the challenge, but I'm glad I could finish it without taking like...3 months haha. I tend to do that a lot with my stories, so I'm glad this fic has been constant so far. I'll do my best to keep it that way :)
> 
> Hope you like the chapter. Criticism is welcome :)

_Chosen Undead._

_Ring the bells._

_Chosen Undead._

_Link Lord Gwyn's fire._

_Chosen Undead._

_By fate you were chosen._

_Chosen Undead._

_Wait._

_What's this?_

_The Asylum's fire has grown weak._

_Its bonfires could be at risk._

_When was it last kindled?_

_Has it ever?_

_It will fade._

_The prophecy._

_It_ _would_ _have to be changed._

_It would be too much work._

_I'll deal with this later._

_First, I sleep._

_Where was I?_

_Oh, yes._

_Chosen Undead._

_Please make haste._

_So many have failed._

_Chosen Undead._

_Where are you?_

_Chosen Undead._

_I'll remain here._

_Chosen Undead._

_Are you there?_

* * *

"Chosen Undead."

"Ah, no wonder why you and this Hollow get along so well. He is as fond of repeating annoying nonsense as you. Another charming trait of Astorans, I presume."

The crestfallen warrior said to Solaire. He glanced over his shoulder; the sunlight knight looked away before their eyes could meet.

The crestfallen warrior frowned. For how long would that fool uphold his promise to him? His power over Solaire had not waned, but he was starting to fear it had never been as strong as he had thought.

_I must hurry. The last thing I need right now is for this idiot to play the hero again._

"Chosen Undead."

The words made him wince.

The so-called prophecy of the Fate of the Undead had become one most tiring aspect of his life in Firelink Shrine. Every time he heard it, the crestfallen warrior felt an irrational wave of disgust and rage.

It was a petty reaction, but none could say it was unfair or unearned. The believers and preachers of such scam were always twice as pretentious and self-important than the prophecy itself.

They were all so convinced they were special and unique, which only made it more hilarious when they failed and faded into absolute oblivion.

Long ago, the crestfallen warrior might have felt pity for these poor men and women. Not anymore.

His compassion had evolved into annoyance; then, into apathy.

Finally, it had transformed into hatred.

And at that very moment, all of it was directed at the half-Hollow.

He was not like the many other Undead that had arrived to Firelink Shrine before. That was not to say the crestfallen warrior considered him special.

If anything, he was an anomaly.

The half-Hollow was useless, broken, defeated and hopeless; yet, his arrival had changed everything. The life the crestfallen had once known in Firelink Shrine was gone forever, and it was all because of him.

He was sure of it, and he hated him for it.

_How dare you?_

The crestfallen felt his heart pumping with rage inside his chest.

_Who the hell do you think you are?_

The pain of his fingernails piercing the flesh of his ungloved palms made him aware of the harm he was causing himself.

Just like his heartbeat, the sting felt real and relevant. He couldn't remember when it had been the last time it had been so. Even during his fight against Solaire, the crestfallen had thought nothing of his own injuries.

He had felt them, but they had meant nothing to him.

Now, just the feeble bite of his bleeding palms was enough to make him react. For the first time in ages, his body had spoken to him and he had answered in return.

It made him feel human again.

Almost...

_Alive._

The crestfallen warrior looked down at his bloody palms.

_I never understood why we Undead even bleed._

He clenched his hands and stood in front of the half-Hollow.

_Blood is the sign of life, the fuel of our bodies and souls. What use do we have for any of that in this cursed land? It's meaningless, an absolute waste. That's what we all are, even me. My life in this shrine had no real purpose, but it still belonged to me. It was nothing, but it was a nothingness that was mine to claim; and for me, that was everything. Now..._

"Chosen Undead."

The crestfallen warrior remembered the raven and how it had faded away into the wind after its death.

_It's gone. All because of you._

"Enough of this foolishness." The crestfallen warrior said.

He raised his foot. First, he kicked the Crest Shield away from the half-Hollow's lap.

Then, with more strength, he kicked again. This time, his foot crashed against the half-Hollow's cheek.

The pathetic creature fell to his side and landed against an overgrown root with a loud thump. The crestfallen warrior gave him no quarter and stomped his foot over the half-Hollow again; instead of his face, he aimed for the scarring wound he had helped to seal.

The creature cried as soon as the metal boot touched his weak spot; his horrible voice was like a morbid parody of a rabbit's squeals as it struggled to remove an arrow stuck on its belly.

The crestfallen warrior kept going until sweat began to pour from his forehead. Each time, he kicked with more fervor and the half-Hollow screamed louder.

"So much for your muteness and faint whisperings, huh?" The crestfallen warrior growled without stopping the beating. "If you can scream, then you can talk, can't you?"

The lower part of the half-Hollow's tunic started to become wet and darker with the blood of his reopened injury. Some of it stained the crestfallen's boot, causing him to spill red drops across the grass whenever he gave the creature a new stomp.

"If you can talk, then you will." The crestfallen said, lifting his leg and gathering his all his strength on his knee. "And if you won't, then I'll make you."

"Enough!" Solaire grabbed the crestfallen by the shoulders and pulled him away from the half-Hollow just before he could deliver the kick. "Have you gone mad?! You're going to kill him!"

"Shut up." The crestfallen warrior snapped at Solaire. He should have known the sunny moron wouldn't be able to keep quiet and neutral for too long. "Stay out of this. Do not forget you gave me your word."

"I know, but—"

"Violence is the only way we'll make this thing talk. Now keep quiet, Solaire. If you really want to help me, then do as I tell you and don't say a word more."

"But you promised... you promised me you wouldn't hurt him without reason!"

"I'm not."

The crestfallen warrior lunged himself forward. Solaire's meddling had sparked a flare of rage that ignited every nerve in his body. The sensation was glorious and warm.

Despite his anger, he smiled.

How could he have existed for so long deprived of those little pleasures sprouting from his body?

_This feels nice._

He grabbed Solaire by the center of his tunic and pulled him closer to the half-Hollow. The crestfallen warrior noticed Solaire's eyes gleaming with sympathy and pity for the creature.

To his surprise, the crestfallen warrior felt something resembling tenderness for the knight of sunlight as well.

_This feels great._

"You took care of him with more gentleness than he deserved. You were patient with him, you cleaned his wound, you washed his face and hair, you gave him back his shield, you talked to him, you tried to feed him, you were always by his side... and how did he repaid all these kindnesses, Solaire?"

The crestfallen warrior grinned at Solaire's hesitation.

He felt victorious.

_This feels real. I am real. Hollow creature, if I didn't hate you so much for what you've done, I'd be grateful for what you have taught me, for what you made me remember._

"Exactly." The crestfallen continued after Solaire couldn't say a word.

He let go of the knight, leaving a crimson imprint of his fingers and palm on the face of Solaire's hand-drawn sun. "He said nothing. By the lords, he barely looked at you in the eye at all! I will not waste my time in such niceties with him. If he won't talk out of cordiality or gratefulness, then I'll make him talk out of despair. Besides, what's pain for a half-Hollow anyway? He probably isn't feeling anything right now. Oh well, I'll have to keep trying. There's no hurry. None of us have somewhere else to be or something better to do, do we?"

"You're talking about torturing him." Solaire interrupted. He put his hand above the blood-covered sun painted on his chest and held it tightly. "I promised I would help you by staying out of all this, but I can't just stand still and watch you torture this man any longer."

"If you can't help me in a request so simple, you'd be failing me. And what's worse, you'd be failing your duty as a Warrior of Sunlight." The crestfallen warrior glared at Solaire; his jaw was tense as a bow's cord. "Do you want me go Hollow, Solaire? Do you hate me so much that you gave me your word only to betray me afterwards? You gave me hope, and now you're taking it away. You're cruel."

_What was the word he called me? Oh, right._

"Monstrous."

"May the Lord of Sunlight forgive me for the consequences of my weakness, but I can't abide to this." Solaire said, trembling form head to toe as he continued to hold his clumsily drawn sun. "I can't."

The crestfallen warrior felt a beating vein about to explode on his temple.

How could Solaire continue to be so stubborn?

The crestfallen had made him yield to him.

He had filled his heart with doubts, he had infected his dreams with fears, he had mocked and shamed his beliefs.

Solaire had succumbed to his words. It had been easier than the crestfallen had expected.

His victory had been sweet, but it had also been a bitter disappointment.

Deep down, the crestfallen had expected more resistance from Solaire. It really had been a shame the man had ended up being nothing but talk. For a moment, the crestfallen had believed the sunlight knight was made of something stronger than the average Undead that passed though Firelink Shrine.

Alas, the illusion had passed, and all it had been necessary for Solaire to expose his true self had been some snide insinuations and hollow insults the crestfallen had put little heart into.

In the end, Solaire was as much of a weak man as he was.

Or so the crestfallen had thought.

_How dares he? Who does he think he is?_

The crestfallen warrior felt a murderous intent against the sunlight knight.

_This man is a pest. He is in my way._

Taking advantage of Solaire's distraction over his broken promise, the crestfallen warrior slowly lowered his hand to the broken coiled sword hanging from his belt.

_He's left me no choice. Oh, what's death to an Undead anyway? Neophytes like him always make such a fuzz about it as if we were still alive, but I know better. If I kill him, he'll just revive from the bonfire's flame. Then, I'll just have to keep killing him until he goes Hollow and dies for good. It should be easy as long as I attack him as soon as he rises from the ashes. What a drag, but if that means he'll stop meddling, so be it._

His fingers got a firm hold on the sword's scorched handle.

Solaire remained blissfully ignorant of his intentions.

The crestfallen warrior had warned him of the dangers of being so carefree of his surroundings. Yet, his words of wisdom had again fallen of stupid and deaf ears.

_Oh well, these things happen. I'm not used to gratitude anyway._

He tried to deliver the surprise and lethal blow, but his arm didn't move from its place.

_This feels... wrong._

The crestfallen warrior couldn't believe it.

What was which anchored his arm to his side and prevented him from attacking?

His honor?

His pride?

No.

Impossible.

He had neither. Perhaps, long ago, he had acted dutifully according to a code ruled by both qualities, but not anymore.

Or did he?

The mere thought of it stunned him.

Was it really a travesty for him to consider that, among his reawakened emotions, those qualities could also be present?

_Can it be..._

The crestfallen warrior wondered as his gaze traveled down to his hand holding the sword.

_...that a crestfallen like me—_

His hopes and expectations were crushed by the sight of the half-Hollow holding him by the wrist.

"D-don't." The creature said to him in between gasps. "I-I will...t-talk—"

He coughed and clenched his jaw in frustration. The effort each word required from him was obvious even to the crestfallen.

The half-Hollow took several deep breaths and looked at him in the eyes.

"But...don't do it."

The crestfallen warrior felt his blood freeze in his veins. He stepped away from the creature as if he was a dragon ready to engulf him in a wave of fire.

Without the support of the crestfallen's arm, the half-Hollow dropped to the uneven surface of the stone steps. He landed again on his side and gasped at the agony of his pulsating wound.

Solaire was at his side in an instant.

The crestfallen warrior could hear him asking questions to the creature. He thought he also heard him asking for his forgiveness.

It wouldn't have been a surprise to the crestfallen if Solaire had done so while crying.

Maybe, maybe not.

He had no way to know.

The world around him stopped existing. His whole perception was reduced to the surging emotions attempting to burst free from his body but unable to find a way out.

_I felt something._

The crestfallen warrior looked at the coiled sword.

_Was it hope?_

He hadn't noticed until then that the weapon was still lacquered with the half-Hollow's dry blood.

_Whatever it was, it's gone. He took it from me. He left me with nothing yet again._

Unconsciously, his free hand jolted to the raven's feather on his belt. Like the coiled sword, it was covered on the crusty blood of its rightful owner.

_Idiot._

The crestfallen warrior felt a chuckle escape his lips.

_Idiot. Idiot. Idiot._

The chuckle grew into a soft laughter.

_How did I dare to think a crestfallen warrior like me... What a joke, what a jest!_

The laughter evolved into a loud cackle that echoed across the shrine.

"That's alright, it doesn't matter! None of it does! See, Solaire? I told you! All this fool needed was some encouragement, a little taste of physical rhetoric!"

The crestfallen thought he had lost everything. Just when everything seemed lost, he remembered there was still one rope he could hang on to.

He had been right about the half-Hollow. He had broken his silence. That had been what the crestfallen had wanted in the first place. Surely his success and the answers he was about to receive would fill the emptiness spreading inside him.

And emptiness that had long been there but had never bothering him before.

Or had it?

"Talk then!" The crestfallen exclaimed. "Tell us the story, foul creature, of your little adventure in Northern Asylum. It's bound to be an interesting tale! I know it is. Don't you feel the same, Solaire? Don't you?"

He looked at Solaire and the half-Hollow. He couldn't decipher what expression their faces conveyed, but something told him it was pity.

That couldn't be right.

Why would they pity a man that was euphoric with happiness?

_What strange people Astorans are._

He laughed again until his sides got sore.

"Very strange indeed!"

* * *

Oscar confessed everything.

He had started with his name and couldn't stop himself afterwards.

The words came out of his mouth like vomit. They flowed as freely as the blood from his wound, but unlike the reopened injury, there was no way of stopping the verbal hemorrhage.

It felt strange for his tongue to be so eloquent and eager to speak after all the time it had remained unused.

Oscar couldn't believe he remembered how to pronounce anything at all other than the words that so frequently had escaped him since his arrival at Firelink Shrine.

_Chosen Undead._

It came to him that not once during his story he had pronounced the nickname of his fallen comrade. When he spoke of them, Oscar referred to them simply as the Undead from the Asylum. He also talked of them coldly, and no one who heard him tell his story could have believed the Chosen Undead had been important to Oscar at all.

_You were never the Chosen Undead, were you? It was merely my silly way to call you. I think you were fond of it, in some childish and foolish way. Yes, that would be a lot like you. I guess I was fond of it too, but truth is... you were never the Chosen Undead._

He paused. His unstoppable tongue had finally met an obstacle it wasn't able to sort.

Had he reached a part of his story that still caused him pain?

_If that was the case, then I wouldn't have been able to start with my useless tale in the first place._

He breathed a small chuckle that sounded no different than a cough.

Oscar swallowed. He noticed with dread a lump in his throat that wouldn't go away.

_No, I won't._

His breathing quickened.

_I've cried enough, more than I should have ever done. It's unworthy, it's pathetic, it's weak. What kind of knight—_

He felt a gentle weight resting on his shoulder.

Solaire must have thought the gesture would bring Oscar some comfort, but the only feeling it caused him was shame.

Oscar couldn't bring himself to look at his fellow knight, even less thank him for his sympathy.

It wasn't only out of embarrassment. In a way, he wasn't thankful for it at all. In the deepest corners of his heart, the more kindness Solaire showed him, the more Oscar's resentment against him grew.

He grabbed Solaire's hand and put it away from his body. His movements hadn't been violent, but there had certainly been no friendliness in them either.

Solaire must have understood, for he didn't try to comfort Oscar again. Instead, he focused solely in keeping the Estus soaked cloth firmly pressed against Oscar's wound.

Oscar had tried to do it himself, but he had been too weak. In the end, he had been left with no choice than to accept Solaire's help.

Even if he had outrightly refused and told the Warrior of Sunlight to piss off, Oscar was sure Solaire would have still helped him against his will.

_They were just like you. Helping me out when I never asked for it. Fools, the both of you. Keep this up, and you will end the same way they did._

The ruthlessness of the thought left Oscar more speechless than he already was. Just when he believed he had already come to terms with the selfish and lowly man he had always been, a new speck of the darkness luring inside sprouted from his soul and shocked him.

His incomplete Hollowing had exposed too much of his true self, more than he was able to face all at once.

He had to accept it; even if it destroyed his heart in the process, he had to embrace his true essence.

_I don't have to pretend anymore. My past is lost, my memories are gone, my dreams have faded and the fate I thought was mine is out of reach. I'm free at last. Free to be my true myself. I should be relieved, but all it makes me feel is—_

"Is this how your story ends?"

Oscar glanced at the crestfallen warrior. The sullen man was sitting in his usual spot near the bonfire. He held Oscar's and his own Estus Flask in his hands. He played with them a little before putting them down on the floor.

Then, he picked up the coiled sword and inspected it as if he was a blacksmith valuing the worth of a freshly crafted weapon.

"Some lowly Undead dies so you and the raven can escape from the demented Hollows you set free." His voice was filled with fake interest and admiration. "Then you arrived here and... well, I guess both me and Solaire know what happened next. Is this how your story ends, half-Hollow?"

_Lowly._

Oscar remembered the Chosen Undead had used that same word to refer to themselves.

_I called you many things too. Awful things. By the lords, I tried to kill you. I know I have no right to pretend I'm offended by what this crestfallen calls you, but..._

He clenched his hands and glared at the crestfallen. Oscar was ready to defend the memory of the Chosen Undead from the insolence of a broken man.

What did he know of what had happened?

Oscar may have told him and Solaire of the events that he had set in motion in the Asylum, but what did they know of what he and the Chosen Undead had shared?

They didn't understand. They never would, and Oscar didn't want them to.

He wouldn't allow either of them to mock the Chosen Undead.

_Don't pretend._

Oscar flinched at the murmurs of his mind.

_You are not this kind of man, remember? Don't pretend._

"What's the matter? Did he fall asleep? Quickly Solaire, wake him up. I don't want him to leave me hanging. Punch him in his wound if you have to."

"Don't order me around. He's talked enough for now. If he needs rest, we should let him have it."

"Such insolence! Keep this attitude up and I won't share any more of my Estus with him. Or what's worse, you don't want me to accidentally break both flasks, do you? Just like you did with your own... What an idiot."

"Keep talking if you want, I won't listen."

Solaire was about to help Oscar into a more comfortable position so he could rest, but Oscar answered before anything else happened.

"Yes." He said, his voice meek and empty. "That's how it all ends."

"Liar." The crestfallen warrior stated with so much confidence that Oscar almost became convinced that all he said was true. "There's more to it than what you've told us, isn't it?"

"I don't—"

"Listen to me well, creature." The crestfallen warrior stood up. He pointed the coiled sword towards Oscar. "I didn't force you out of your self-pitying trance just so you could tell me the boring misadventures you shared with some rotten moron in the Asylum. I couldn't care less about that nonsense. Now, you're going to tell me the whole thing again, but this time, you won't keep anything from me. If you do, I swear I'll make you wish it had been you who the Hollows devoured and not that simpleton that sacrificed their sorry skin to save your life."

"I've told you everything!" Oscar exclaimed; his face hot with fury. "I don't care if you don't believe me, but I won't let you—"

Oscar bit his tongue.

_Chosen Undead._

He tensed his jaw until his teeth began to creak.

"Do I have to explain everything? Are Astorans really so dense?" The crestfallen roared with honest frustration. "Damn you!"

Then, without warning, he launched the coiled sword towards Oscar.

Solaire put himself between him and the projectile, ready to deflect it with his iron bracelets.

It wasn't necessary, for the weapon landed right at Oscar's feet.

"Tell me how you did it."

"Stop! Don't you dare to come any—" Solaire warned the crestfallen.

"Out of the way, you blind fool!" The crestfallen warrior pushed Solaire out of the way before the knight had the opportunity to react. "I'm not going to kill him! Are you really so stupid to think I would get rid of him when he hasn't told me anything useful yet? Use what little brain you have in that empty head of yours and stop being a nuisance! In fact, why don't you just leave already? Isn't it clear to you that not even this half-Hollow wants you here? If you can't see it, you must be blind. Leave, sunlight clown. You don't belong here, you never did."

It was seldom Oscar had felt so exposed.

He looked at Solaire. It was the first time he saw true hurt in the knight's face.

Regret and guilt made Oscar look away, afraid Solaire would stare at him and see that what the crestfallen had said was true.

Oscar didn't want Solaire around. He had never found him annoying, and he certainly didn't consider him stupid, but his presence was too painful for him to endure.

The help he so selflessly lent him, the quirks that escaped him every time he talked to him, they way he had risked his life to save him; it was all to similar to them.

_Chosen Undead._

Oscar couldn't ponder on the matter any longer, not without tears betraying his eyes. Desperate to put an end to the tension, he spoke before Solaire could reply to the crestfallen's heartless taunt.

"I told you. It wasn't me who pulled the sword from the bonfire." Oscar said, holding his head with both hands. "A Hollow did it, but I do not know how. I'm as much in the dark about this as you. Please, you have to believe me. I'm not trying to deceive you."

"Deceive me? As if you ever could. Now, for the last time, stop with your feeble lies and tell me the truth. How did you pull the sword from the bonfire? Don't you think of lying to me again. You won't like what I'll do to you if you dare."

"Kill me now, then." Oscar said without fear. "For my answer will never change. What I'm saying is true, and if you don't believe me, that's your problem, not mine."

The crestfallen warrior laughed at Oscar.

"Isn't he a brave one, Solaire? No wonder he managed to become an elite knight! What a man, what a warrior. If I wasn't so scared that your fellow Astoran here would cut my head off if I let down my guard, I would bow to you, Oscar, elite knight of Astora!"

Oscar felt as if the coiled sword had entered his body again. He wished the earth would split open and engulf him.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Very well, forget about this cursed sword." The crestfallen kicked the coiled sword. The weapon was out of sight, with only a distant clank revealing its landing spot. "On to the next question, one you have no way to sneak your way out of. In your feverish dreams, you spoke of the fate of the Undead. Don't get me wrong, I've heard that damn poem so many times that I'm surprised it hasn't driven to insanity... but there was something _odd_ about your version. Tell, was that particular verse of your own invention?"

"What?"

The crestfallen warrior's eyes became wide with a crazed anger than sent shivers down Oscar's spine. Before he knew it, the man had knelt in front of him and grabbed him by the collar of his tunic.

"Don't play games with me, monster."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Oscar said, feeling the chilling sting of his cold sweat on his back.

The crestfallen pulled him closer to his face. He inspected him for a long while.

Solaire didn't intervene. To his own shock, Oscar found himself longing for his assistance.

It was then he became aware of how unjustly ungrateful he had been to Solaire.

No wonder Solaire had given up on him. Oscar didn't blame him. If anything, Solaire had been too patient with him, a lot more than what Oscar deserved.

"Up." The crestfallen stated with an unyielding tone. The order brought Oscar back to reality, but he didn't comply to it. Instead, his only answer was to look directly at the crestfallen.

He saw how the man's features became adorned with wrinkles as anger further twisted his frown and the corners of his mouth.

"Up!"

The crestfallen pulled Oscar without the slightest concern for his injury. He dragged Oscar up using the tree's bark as support.

Oscar gasped as his feet were forced to endure his weight after a long time of being free of its burden. The pain that traveled his body was familiar.

It was the same pain that had almost driven him to unconsciousness when the Chosen Undead had helped him stand up at the Asylum. The Chosen Undead had been brusque too, but not out of resentment.

They simply had been too eager about helping Oscar; their actions had been pure.

The treatment the crestfallen warrior was giving him couldn't be more different. Unlike the Chosen Undead, he enjoyed every ounce of pain his rough movements inflicted on Oscar.

With the same care as if he was handling a dead body, the crestfallen warrior slammed Oscar against the tree.

Oscar's head hit the bark and bounced at the impact. His sight became dizzy, but the sight of uncontained fury on the crestfallen's semblance never stopped being crystal clear.

"Linking Gwyn's fire." The crestfallen hissed. "What the hell does that mean? Did you come up with it? And if you didn't, who told you that verse? Answer me!"

Oscar repeated the phrase in a voiceless stutter. The words had made sense to him when he had repeated the prophecy to the Chosen Undead, just when he had been sure they would become his living legacy.

It wasn't until the crestfallen warrior ordered an explanation that Oscar realized he didn't know anything about the verse at all; not what it meant, nor where he had heard it.

At some point he couldn't identify, the words had simply settled inside his mind without him noticing it. More than a thought, for Oscar they were a piece of subconscious information he felt he had always known, like a dormant instinct that had recently awakened within him.

_How? Who?_

Oscar made an honest effort to decipher an answer, not for the crestfallen's sake, but for his own. Now that he had been made aware of what he knew, Oscar became overwhelmed by how little he understood it.

He searched inside his broken memories, but in the fragments that still lingered in his mind he found nothing.

_Am I going mad?_

Oscar breathed out a soft laugh.

_Maybe I was mad long before I came here. There's no other explanation for it. What a cruel fate yours was, Chosen Undead... to sacrifice your life for a demented fool like me._

"I don't know." He said, unaware that the crestfallen warrior had been about to demand an answer from him again. "I really don't know."

Oscar smiled at the crestfallen.

It was the sullen man's turn to be the one to cower in fear. His expression snapped Oscar out of his trance.

His smile vanished and was replaced by a bewildered grimace that unveiled that what he said had no trace of treachery in it.

All was true.

"You heartless monster." The crestfallen warrior muttered at Oscar. His voice was so broken by despair that Oscar couldn't help but to pity him. The feeling remained even after the crestfallen warrior punched him in the face, right in the same spot he had kicked him before.

"You're not lying." The crestfallen warrior exclaimed as he continued to punch Oscar. "You're really not! You truly don't know, half- Hollow! You ruined my life here, you made me believe I could still make great changes... how could I not if a creature as pitiful as you did? You changed everything for me, and you don't even know how you did it! Is that how it is, elite knight of Astora? Answer me... Answer me!"

Oscar couldn't. Not only because of the beating he was receiving, but also because he knew that it didn't matter what he said, it would never be what the crestfallen warrior wished to hear.

_I can't help you._

Oscar thought amidst the punches.

_I can't help anyone. Chosen Undead. I'm not the Chosen Undead. You were the Chosen Undead, I'm just—_

"Why won't you say anything?!"

The punch Oscar hoped would knock him into unconsciousness or perhaps even grant him death never came.

Solaire made sure of it when, with a nimbleness he hadn't shown before, he made his way under Oscar's arm and kicked the crestfallen warrior away from him.

"I've failed you again." He whispered to Oscar as he held his wrist and carried him in his shoulders. "Not anymore. This time, I'll make amends for what my weakness has caused."

Oscar looked at Solaire.

"Chosen Undead." Oscar didn't notice what he called him, and neither did Solaire. He was too focused in keeping his attention on the crestfallen warrior.

Slowly, Oscar aimed his attention at the other man too.

He stood near the bonfire, trembling like a beggar during a winter's night. His face was soaked with sweat, and his eternal mocking smile was now an anxious grimace. The heavy breathing of his lungs made his body twitch uncontrollably.

"Stop it." The crestfallen took a step back. "Don't look at me like that. Who the hell do you two think you are? Monster, why did you come here? Why did you ruin everything for me? Why did you do this to me?"

Oscar shook his head. He reached his free arm towards the crestfallen.

"You're wrong." Oscar said, so close to tears that he was surprised he managed to keep them at bay. "I never meant—"

"Stay away from me." The crestfallen pulled back as if Oscar was infected with a deadly disease. "Monster!"

He ran away from Oscar and Solaire before either could stop him. He was so blinded by fear that he had already tripped twice when he once again tripped down the shrine's stairs.

"I hate you!" His voice reached Oscar from the shrine's lower level. "I hate you!"

_I hate you too._

Their voice rang too clearly inside Oscar's mind for it to be only a memory.

"Chosen Undead?"

He looked around for them, expecting to see them smiling back at him.

He couldn't find them.

Only Solaire was there to answer back.

"Oscar?"

"No. They are dead. Of course, how stupid of me... perhaps I was too hopeful. I'm sorry."

Oscar laughed.

Solaire answered only with silence.

"I'm sorry."

He remained completely quiet, even after Oscar's laughter transformed into a whimper.

"I'm sorry."

Solaire said nothing still. Instead, he helped Oscar sit down. By the time Oscar touched the floor, his tears had already broken free.

Solaire stood by him. He didn't try to make him stop or tell him everything would be alright, but he remained next to him nonetheless.

The only thing that outmatched Oscar's appreciation towards the knight was the unbearable shame he felt for his own weakness.

What did Solaire think of him?

What concept could he possible have of Oscar when he had only seen him in his most deplorable state?

_The real me._

The thought made him choke. He could only imagine how ridiculous he had just sounded.

Did it matter? It wasn't as if Solaire's opinion of him could be any lower than it already was.

Still, it hurt.

The Chosen Undead at least had had the chance to see little traces of Oscar's dignified and honorable façade before the Hollowing had reduced him to his true form.

Oscar had always found comfort in that. With Solaire, he had none of it.

It was too much. His shame and embarrassment would be forever branded on his flesh, just like the Darksign.

How much better and glorious Oscar's fate would have been if he had perished as a proud elite knight at the Asylum?

No one would remember him, his life would have met an abrupt and unworthy end, but he would have died as Oscar, a true elite knight of Astora.

Such fate was much kinder than his current life as Oscar, the crying, selfish, cruel, ungrateful and envious half-Hollow.

_This is who I am. I must not forget it. I must accept it. To do otherwise would be an insult to everyone I've harmed._

The Undead appeared before his mind again. This time, Oscar welcomed their memory with disgust.

If only that godforsaken Undead he freed had left him to die as he had commanded them, then Oscar wouldn't have been forced to endure the nightmare that was his new existence, a parody of his previous life.

_I hate you, Undead. I hate you with all my heart._

Yet, when Oscar tried to speak his thought so it could become real and tangible, his tongue betrayed him.

"I'm so sorry."

He only noticed Solaire had embraced him after he felt him shuddering against his chest.

_Is he crying?_

How stupid of him, to ask a question to which he already knew the answer.

"I'm—" Oscar tried to apologize amidst his weeping.

Solaire held him closer before he could finish.

_Chosen Undead._

No.

The person with him wasn't them.

"Solaire."

The man whimpered at the sound of his name.

It came to Oscar it was the first time he said it out loud.

Gradually, Oscar's shame dissipated. He knew it would be back to him the moment of venting was over.

He knew he would regret everything once things had returned back to normal. He couldn't remember, but he doubted he had ever been any different.

He didn't care. At that moment, none of it mattered.

_Right now, I have this. Right now, this is enough, and I'm grateful for it._

A peace like he hadn't felt ever since the Asylum Demon had destroyed his body finally returned to Oscar. He didn't realize how much he had missed it until it engulfed his entire soul in what felt was pure light.

_Just like I'm grateful to both of you._

He closed his eyes and wept.

_I really am._


	9. The Hyena hunts after the sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's everyone doing?
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading/leaving kudos/suscribing and also thanks to MrsLittletall, PanDeTorao and RirirRules4Ever for the awesome comments! 
> 
> And yes... the chapter count is up again. *Collective gasp of disbelief* I just never expected to expand so much on the Firelink Shrine "arc" (lol) of the story. I originally planned it to only be one chapter long, but there just was so much I wanted to explore and I couldn't make everything fit in just one go. And to think I trimmed various parts I wanted to add but couldn't find the right moment to include them haha. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

The cliff’s bottom was pitch-black.

He had never gazed upon it, but the crestfallen warrior knew not even the Abyss could be more dreadfully empty.

He held the edges of the stone wall and took a step closer. Soon, the tip of his feet had no ground underneath them.

All it would take was one more step and everything would be over.

No one would be witness of his deed.

Solaire had stayed behind with the half-Hollow upstairs. The crestfallen warrior had waited, but the knight of sunlight never came looking for him.

_Am I not worth helping? Is this how it is, Solaire?_

He breathed a humorless chuckle.

_Well, you are not wrong, not at all; and yet, I had hoped..._

The crestfallen warrior tried to make his final movement, but his body didn’t answer to his commands.

What was it that held him back?

The fear of the end of his meaningless existence?

Ridiculous.

He had made almost a religion out of his belief that no one’s life and actions, including his own, had true relevance for the world. Certainly, death couldn’t scare a follower of such creed., especially an Undead.

Could it be then that, deep down, he feared that whatever awaited him in the pit’s bottom wasn’t death but his Hollowing?

The crestfallen warrior laughed at the idea.

Nonsense.

He didn’t fear the Hollowing; he longed for it, now more than ever after what the half-Hollow from Astora had done.

Thanks to him, no more Undead hailing from the Asylum would ever reach Firelink Shrine.

While Astorans were dignified, pretentious and pious, the Asylum’s Undead were ignorant, clumsy, careless, and above all, clueless; but what else could be expected from them?

Life at the Asylum was far from glamorous, and every little creature than managed to make its way out of that damned place after years of imprisonment couldn’t be expected to be in the best shape, neither physically nor mentally.

The outside world was almost a novelty to their rotten brains and destroyed memories. Their plight was awful indeed, and it had not passed unnoticed by the crestfallen warrior.

Perhaps it was for that reason that, as much as they got on his nerves with their constant questions about the most obvious and trivial of things, the crestfallen warrior had felt pity for those lost souls. 

As time had passed, his life had slowly shaped a new purpose for him.

When the crestfallen had decided to take permanent residence in the sanctuary after giving up on his ill-fated quest, he never thought he would become the shrine’s unofficial guide. The role was far from being fulfilling, but he couldn’t deny there was a sense of purpose in it.

Even after he had long lost all pity for the many Undead that always failed on their deluded quests, the crestfallen warrior felt something resembling pride in his duty as their mentor.

_I am more experienced. I am wiser. I know better, and they were aware of this. No matter how much I detested their meddling or how much they resented my honesty, they always came to me for answers._

The crestfallen warrior took the raven’s feather hanging from his belt and held it gently with both hands.

_It’s all over. Without you, no Undead from the Asylum can come to Lordran again. Had it not been for that cursed elite knight of Astora and his Undead comrade, none of this would have happened. Had it not been for their foolishness, you wouldn’t have died._

He felt a biting coldness blooming from his chest, as if he had been impaled with an ice-enchanted sword.

_Without all the Undead from the Asylum, who will seek my help now? Who else would be willing to listen to what a crestfallen has to say? What is my purpose without them?_

Solaire had been an exception. Other than him, the crestfallen couldn’t remember when it had been the last time a fellow Undead hailing from anywhere else other than the Asylum had paid him any attention.

Most of the time, no one who passed through Firelink Shrine looked at him, even less tried to engage in any kind of conversation. On some occasions, the Asylum’s Undead showed him the same level of disdain.

Yet, the crestfallen warrior hadn’t cared, for he knew that an Undead that would be willing to listen to him would always come.

_Not anymore._

He looked down again to his soon to be tomb; or what was worse, to his birthplace as a Hollow.

_Hollowing is the only thing we Undead can aspire to. Everything else is an illusion, a lie. My entire life led me to this, my failed quest taught me nothing else. I embrace it, I do not ask any more from my fate. It’ s not unfair or cruel, it just is. Then, why? If I hadn’t doubted before, why am so scared right now?_

A void replaced his heart and began to consume everything within him until only his fears remained.

_Is this... the Hollowing?_

His chest hurt at the agitated and uneven rhythm of his breathing. The crestfallen warrior lost its strength and balance. He had to hang on to the stone wall to prevent himself form plummeting down the cliff like a miserable pebble.

_It was supposed to bring me peace, not drown me in everlasting despair._

The crestfallen warrior lost his grip on the raven’s father. The wind blew it away from him and Firelink Shrine forever. He watched it fly away into the distance until it blended into the landscape.

_I have no right to complain. A crestfallen like me cannot aspire to anything else. Besides, this is what I always wanted, isn’t it?_

The crestfallen warrior closed his eyes, willing to ponder on the question for as long as his fading sanity allowed.

_Isn’t it?_

“Come on, if you’re really going to go through with this, just do it already! I’ve grown tired of seeing you trembling and doubting like a squire that just lost his knight’s sword! ”

The crestfallen warrior felt an unwelcome pressure on his back. A small push that almost made him fall followed.

The vertigo and sense of fatality was enough to break the trance of the Hollowing and bring him back to his senses.

“If you are afraid,” the owner of the boot whispered in his ear, so close to him that the crestfallen could feel his breath against his skin, “I can lend you a hand. And in return for my services, I’ll loot your corpse. You’re bound to end up in New Londo from here... Dreadful place, it gives me the creeps, I tell you. Oh well, a little trip there has never killed me, at least not yet.”

The stranger laughed. The crestfallen warrior tried to look at him, but the man pushed him closer to the precipice before he could move his neck.

“Or I could just, you know, kill you here and save me the all the trouble, but I’d rather spare that beautiful firekeeper over there the gory scene. And I certainly don’t want that bloody sunlight warrior upstairs to hunt me down for killing his crestfallen pal. No sir! He maybe me an idiot, but what he lacks in wit, he makes up for in strength.”

The crestfallen warrior almost cackled at the ignorance of the other.

Bold of him to think the firekeeper would be shocked or traumatized by witnessing his murder, as if she was an innocent maiden that swooned at the sight of blood.

And yet, that misconception was nothing compared with the absurd idea that Solaire would care about his fate in the slightest.

“If that fool scares you so much, fear not.” The crestfallen declared. “He wouldn’t mind. No one would. Not him, not the firekeeper, not the half-Hollow, and above all, not me!”

“What was that?” The stranger asked him with unconcealed curiosity. His tone changed abruptly when the crestfallen warrior began to laugh with an open heart. “Hey, what are laughing about? Fool! Is your impeding death so hilarious to you?”

“Perhaps it is!” The crestfallen warrior replied. He spread his arms, as if he was a priest giving a lecture to his faithful followers. “Perhaps it is!”

The stranger was left mute in bafflement, or maybe he was laughing alongside him in a shared moment of crazed epiphany.

The crestfallen warrior couldn’t know.

_It all will be over soon. Be it with fear or with laughter, everything ends. Such is the fate of all the crestfallen like me!_

He no longer cared.

_Such is the true fate of the Undead!_

* * *

“I’m back, Oscar.”

Solaire exclaimed in a boisterous voice that almost made Oscar jump in surprise. He was carrying their freshly washed tunics in his arms.

He hung the clothes on the improvised structure he had built near the bonfire with his sunlight sword, his round shield and Oscar’s crest shield.

It had not been easy for Oscar to convince Solaire to add his rare shield to the pile. After some arguing, Solaire had finally accepted Oscar’s request.

Rather than thinking he had been persuasive, Oscar felt he had been looked down upon. He was sure Solaire had only complied out of pity.

He disliked the thought, but what other explanation could there be?

_I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, everything I’ve shown him is weakness. If he pities me, it’s because I’ve given him all the right reasons for him to do so._

Oscar didn’t realize he had been staring at Solaire until the knight turned around and looked at him after finishing with their tunics.

Solaire smiled at him.

Oscar couldn’t return the gesture. He tried, but the best he could muster was a small wrinkle at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s good.” Oscar said with a nod of his head. “I appreciate it, but there was no need for you to do this.”

“Of course there was!” Solaire went to Oscar’s side and sat down next to him. “You can’t expect us to go around Lordran covered in blood, do you? We may be Undead, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take care of our ourselves and our equipment. Besides, it could give people the wrong impression of us. They could think we are savages, or worse, Hollows!”

Solaire could only enjoy a few seconds of his laughter before it drowned in his throat.

Slowly, he looked at Oscar again, his eyes filled with shame.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine.”

“I swear I wasn’t trying to offend you, Oscar.”

“I said it was fine. “Oscar’s tone put a definite end to Solaire’s lamentations. Realizing his voice had come out much harsher than he had intended, Oscar put a hand on Solaire’s shoulder. “You didn’t offend me at all, Solaire. I know how I look and sound; anyone would be bound to confuse me for a Hollow. Lords, if anything, I would be offended if you had called me a dashing knight. No one likes a flatterer.”

Oscar faked an amused chuckle, hoping Solaire would react to it in the same manner so that they could break the tension before it could wholly manifest between them.

It didn’t work, and for the first time, Oscar witnessed a completely solemn semblance in Solaire’s features.

“Please don’t do that.” Solaire finally said after a long and excruciating silence that had driven Oscar to the most uncomfortable extremes of awkwardness. “You don’t have to pretend that my words weren’t out of place, just like you don’t have to pretend that you enjoy my presence.”

“What? Solaire, I’m not pretending—”

“Yes, you are. I do not blame you, I know well how annoying I am to people, and it’s not without reason. Oscar, you have a kind heart for trying to be friendly with me regardless, and I thank you for it, but I’m going to have to ask you to cease with it. Be polite, be civil, but please don’t act as if you enjoyed my company when you clearly don’t.”

“And who says I don’t? The crestfallen? ” Oscar asked, quickly removing his hand from Solaire. He felt an invisible wall rising between them. “Are you really going to take his word on my opinion of you instead of my own? If you do, then maybe you are a complete idiot after all.”

Oscar knew he had crossed the line, that his words were knives that were digging into the most vulnerable spot of Solaire’s heart, but he couldn’t stop himself.

It wasn’t fair.

What gave Solaire the right to turn things sour between them out of a sudden?

Yes, his little jest about Hollows had been a bit out of place, but Oscar hadn’t taken it personal in the slightest.

And yet, what truly made Oscar’s blood boil wasn’t Solaire’s unnecessary overreaction.

“Even if you are not an idiot, you are a hypocrite, Solaire.” Oscar said, with little regard of the consequences his declaration would have. “You really are.”

“Am I? Well, enlighten me then.” Solaire’s defiance would have made Oscar think twice about proceeding had they been in any other circumstances. “What have I ever done to be worthy of such awful title? I don’t understand, I truly don’t.”

“Yes, you do. You merely don’t want to admit it. You are so blinded and deluded by your ego that you can’t bring yourself to do it, but you know well what I’m talking about.”

“You sound like the crestfallen. Maybe it’s him who should have kept you company instead of me. You two would have gotten along nicely.”

“Indeed. If only he hadn’t run off after trying to kill me, I’m sure we would have become the greatest of comrades. At least he was honest in his hatred for me, and not condescending in his pity like you.”

“Pity?” Solaire sounded like a child repeating a word he hadn’t heard before; but underneath the initial childish disbelief, there was the angered undertone of an insulted knight. “Is that... is that what you think I feel for you? Do you think I only helped you out of pity?”

“Exactly.” Oscar replied, suddenly regretting having brought up the whole thing.

He was exhausted; his face still pulsated from the crestfallen’s beating, his scarring wound was a relentless source of burning pain, his eyes and throat were sore and dry from his shameful crying.

To argue with Solaire was the last thing he needed or wanted.

“Oscar...”

“Stop it, Solaire.” Oscar said. He had intended for it to sound like an order, but it came out more as a plea instead. “Stop talking to me. Stop helping me. That’s all I want from you. Please, don’t make me beg you. I’ve already humiliated myself before you many times... don’t make me add one more ridicule to my shame. One unpayable debt is enough; I don’t need another.”

Had Oscar not bawled his eyes dry just a few moments ago, he was sure his tears would have betrayed him right in that moment.

_Why?_

He grabbed his forehead with one hand and squeezed his temples as if he wanted to squash his head like an eggshell.

_Why did I say that?_

The Undead that had died so he could live came back to him again, as swiftly and silently as an arrow.

_You. I’ve mourned you, I cried you. My tears were supposed to heal me... but it’s not enough, is it? Nothing I do will ever be enough to make it up to you._

“Oscar, listen to me.” Solaire spoke, and Oscar couldn’t ignore him, no matter how much he tried to do so. The sunlight knight, despite his tired expression, had a shine in his eyes Oscar had never seen before. “I wish I could make you look inside my soul so that you were convinced I’m being honest with you, but I can’t, so you’ll have to take my word for it, and I wish with all my heart that you do so.”

He swallowed before he could continue.

“Not once since the raven entrusted your life to me have I felt pity for you. I felt pain for your wounds, I felt frustrated for not knowing what you had gone through so I could be able to help you in a better way, and now that you’ve shared your story with me, I feel sadness at your grief for your fallen friend... but I’ve never pitied you. Not when you were too weak to talk, and certainly not when you allowed yourself to cry in front of me.”

Oscar recoiled at the mention of the incident.

Just like he had guessed, once his tears had stopped and his sobbing had ceased, nothing but shame had remained. There had been relief too, but it was a mere speck compared to the waves of humiliation and regret that had flowed inside Oscar’s heart ever since.

“We are knights, Solaire.” Oscar said with a voice so low that Solaire had to sharpen his ear to understand his words. “There’s no bigger shame for us than to show weakness. I’ve forgotten much of my past, but this I remember clearly. I know you think so too, so please, don’t lie to me. I’m not a child that needs coddling, so don’t treat me as such. Be honest with me, and don’t be afraid to show your disdain for my pathetic display. Trust me that, as your fellow knight, I would understand.”

“Yes, we are both knights, but I’m afraid we do not share the same concept of weakness and shame, Oscar.” Solaire replied with a more adamant tone. “So what if you were in need of help? So what if you cried? How does any of that make you weak or pathetic? I’ve found myself in both situations before, more times than I can count, but I cannot comprehend why it would ever make me feel ashamed of myself.”

“Then you ought to reconsider your perception of what a knight is and start behaving more accordingly to what is expected from one, Solaire. And for the sake of your own honor, I would suggest you make haste about it.”

Oscar knew he sounded cruelly unyielding and stern, but he was only doing it in Solaire’s best interest. As his fellow knight, it was his responsibility to guide him back to the right path of knighthood so that Solaire could be spared from ever falling as lowly as Oscar had already done.

Solaire was a strong and capable warrior burdened with a sensitive heart. While not intrinsically a flaw, it was a double-edged sword that could compromise his honor if he didn’t stop.

“I know not what could ever lead you to believe that a knight would find shame in those kinds of things.” Solaire looked at Oscar with genuine shock. “If it is part of the code shared among elite knights, then I’ll be forever grateful I was never accepted among their ranks.”

“It’s common sense.” Oscar continued, growing desperate at Solaire’s unwillingness or incapacity to understand the true meaning of what he was saying. “Knights are meant to serve people, to protect them, to give their life for them if we have to. In moments of despair and difficulty, we are beacons of hope and strength. We must not falter; we must remain forever strong. To fail to do so is to fail as men and knights.”

_Lords, look at me... Preaching so ardently about knighthood after failing so miserably at it. Will I ever stop pretending?_

“That’s my point!” Solaire exclaimed. Oscar could tell he was equally tired of him as he was of the sunlight knight. “We are meant to be strong, and it’s for that same reason that we must allow ourselves to feel our sadness and receive help whenever it’s necessary. Otherwise, we may end up just like the crestfallen! Did he look strong to you, Oscar? Is that... is that what a knight is supposed to be?”

It didn’t came as a surprise for Oscar that Solaire was at the brink of tears again. If anything, he was shocked he had managed to hold them back for so long.

“Am I in the wrong?” Solaire wiped his eyes quickly with the back of his hand. “Have I been making a fool out of myself all this time? I just don’t know anymore. I mean... you are an elite knight, Oscar. Perhaps you do know better than me. After all, I’m just some idiot, a traveling laughingstock whose only merit is to be physically strong. Other than that, I’ve got nothing. No wit, no talent, no natural skill... nothing. Compared to you, I’m nothing.”

Solaire wiped his eyes again, but no sooner had he cleaned his tears when new ones welled inside his eyes.

“Damn it.” He hissed in frustration before turning his back to Oscar so he couldn’t see the scene. “Damn it all.”

_Oh, Solaire._

Oscar felt his heart swollen with regret.

_What have I done to you?_

He hesitated, not knowing how he could fix what he had just broken with his unnecessary declarations.

He thought about it for long, his mind desperate to find a solution before things passed a point of no return. Oscar knew very well how powerful words could be, and how quickly they could fester if they were allowed to settle inside one’s heart.

But what was he supposed to say?

If he asked for his forgiveness, Solaire would give it to him. He would then accept that Oscar had been right all along.

It was the last thing Oscar wanted.

_Because... I’m not._

Oscar’s eyes widened at the answer. It had been so simple that it made him wonder why it had been so difficult for him to find.

“No, Solaire.” Oscar said, wishing he had the courage to rest a hand against Solaire’s back. “You are much more than I could ever be. What I said to you was uncalled for... I am the one in the wrong here, not you. Please, do not listen to the words of a failed knight like me.”

“I never pitied you, Oscar. I thought I left that clear.” Solaire said in between sobs. “Please, don’t you dare pity me now. If this is how I’ve made you feel all this time, I apologize, for it is a terrible feeling indeed.”

Oscar stopped for a moment. He looked inside him and discovered no trace of pity for Solaire. He didn’t feel sorry for him at all.

If Oscar wanted him to disregard his imprudent statements, it was only for Solaire to go back to his true self, to the jolly and kind knight that had saved his life, far away from insecure and brittle man Oscar had reduced him to.

“It wasn’t because of you, Solaire. If I ever felt as if I was being pitied it was because I was the one who was pitying myself.” Oscar confessed, feeling as if he was opening a can of worms he thought had vanished during his moment of crying. “I was so busy feeling sorry for myself that I couldn’t believe that I was worthy of being saved. I didn’t want to be saved. I see it now... I always did, but I—”

Oscar swallowed. He had no tears left to shed, but he swore he felt their phantom feeling streaming down his face when Solaire turned around and looked at him.

For a second, Oscar swore he was looking at _them_ and not Solaire.

“Forgive me.” Oscar continued before he lost his voice. “All I’ve said is wrong. They are hollow words born from the heart and soul of an useless knight and failed man that couldn’t even save the Undead that saved him. I’m that incompetent, and as such, my words are of little worth and should be not be—"

“Stop it.” Solaire pleaded as he turned around. “Why are you talking about yourself like that? Oscar, you are an elite knight of Astora! Do you remember what honor it is for us to achieve such title? Many spend their entire lives training to even being considered to join their ranks, but only a handful show the skill and prowess necessary to become one. You may have forgotten about it, but trust me when I tell you that what you achieved was more than what men like me could ever dream of.”

“It means nothing, Solaire.” Oscar said, feeling his body tremble. “What good did the title do to me if I was never able to prove I was worthy of it? My shameful defeat at the hands of the Asylum Demon was clear proof I wasn’t as skilled as I had thought. The fact the Chosen Undead had to drag me out of that place after I had given up made it clear I was not half as brave as I believed. My attempt at taking their life showed I was not a noble man at all. In all these situations, a true elite knight would have risen above it and come out victorious and proud. A man like you would have been able to do so, I’m sure of it; but men like me would be better off dead.”

An absolute silence followed. The bonfire sizzled as its fire danced around its intact coiled sword.

Oscar and Solaire stared at each other. Had Oscar not looked away first, he was sure they would have spent the rest of eternity in that same position.

“One’s worth is like faith.” Oscar said as he looked deeply into the bonfire. “You can only know their power after you test them in the direst of circumstances. I went to the Asylum in search for the fate I had coveted all my life, convinced I was the only one worthy of being this world’s savior, only to discover that I was wrong. I was not the protagonist of a fabled prophecy, I was just some prideful moron that paid dearly for his arrogance. I was never the man or knight I thought I was... and then, nothing mattered to me anymore. Not the world, not my life, not my fate.”

“Oscar...”

“I failed horribly in all aspects, Solaire. The Chosen Undead even proved to be nobler and braver than me.” Oscar smiled and shook his head. “And it infuriated me. Some elite knight I was, surpassed by a nameless Undead that never wanted to be freed in the first place.”

Oscar laughed under his breath. It slowly transformed into a growl that made Solaire widen his eyes in fear.

“Did you hear what I just said?” Oscar snapped at him as he punched the ground. He glared at Solaire as if he had been pestering him for a confession. “They never wanted me to free them. They hated me for it, and I hated them too. I was cruel towards them, I confessed I would betray them at the first chance I got... and yet, they still saved me. And now, here I am. Trapped by my own incompetence, bound to a debt I cannot repay. I can’t be the chosen Undead. The Chosen Undead was the true—”

It was only when he was about to repeat the same words that Oscar realized he had been calling the Undead by his nickname all along.

He didn’t know how to continue after that. He kept quiet until he could gather the courage to say what he had long owed to Solaire.

“You’re a good man and an outstanding knight, Solaire. This is what I truly think of you, and I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me.” Oscar didn’t look at Solaire in the eye. “But I can’t allow you to continue helping me, not when I know I will never be able to repay it to you. I just—"

Oscar’s mouth remained open, but he could say nothing else. Tired in all senses, he breathed out what little air remained inside his lungs and leaned his head against the tree.

He stared at the sky, decided to allow Solaire to leave Firelink Shrine without having to be a burden for him any longer.

Instead, Solaire imitated him and rested his back against the tree right at the opposite side. He heard him breathe out a heavy sigh.

For a long while, neither said anything.

Oscar felt tempted to ask Solaire if he had something he wanted to say, but he stopped himself when he realized how obvious the answer was.

Oscar had taken Solaire’s moment of confession and made it all about himself, as if all the time Solaire had allowed Oscar to cry on his shoulder hadn’t been enough.

_My self-pity is becoming a habit, and now, it has harmed someone else other than me. I don’t want this. I need to move on from this... but I don’t know how. Chosen Undead, is this how you felt during your imprisonment? How did you not go Hollow? Were you really so strong of heart and body?_

Oscar thought of them for a while longer. Then, he casted the Undead from his mind, not out of envy or resentment, but out of necessity.

The Chosen Undead was gone, and their memory, while comforting, was also dangerous for Oscar. As much as they were dear to him, they were not what he needed at that moment.

_One day, I hope I can think of you and smile, but not yet. I’m still not ready. Right now, there’s someone else that needs my help, and if I can grant it to him, I want to try._

In the end, Oscar decided the wisest option was to allow Solaire time for himself. He surely was as tired and drained as Oscar was, perhaps a lot more.

_We both need some rest, don’t we? You’ve earned it, my friend._

Oscar closed his eyes, hoping sleep would engulf him soon.

_But, when we both wake up, let’s talk again some more. And this time, I’ll keep silent and listen to everything you have to say. Let’s make amends. Alright, Solaire?_

A gentle snoring was his only answer.

* * *

_Hmgg..._

_Oh, Chosen Undead._

_Hmgg..._

_Lord Gwyn!_

_It’s you, it’s really you!_

_Hrraaoogggh!_

_What? No, I’m not scared of crystal lizards!_

_Hmgg..._

_Kaathe! Leave that settlement alone!_

_Hmgg..._

_Link the fire, Chosen Undead._

_It is your fate._

_Can you hear me?_

_Hmgg..._

_It is your fate._

* * *

“Fate.”

Oscar woke himself up.

The echoes of his dreams faded before he could become aware of them. Only the last word that had escaped his lips remained.

It was difficult for him to believe that such term had ever been his entire life. Now, it felt like a bad memory he couldn’t cleanse from his mind.

_It was just a dream._

Oscar rubbed his eyes. Sleep had done nothing to cure their dryness. It was then Oscar noticed the awful thirst parched in his throat and mouth.

He wondered if Solaire could fetch him some water. 

He knew not where Solaire had found a supply of water in Firelink Shrine, but Oscar didn’t have the luxury to be picky about its origins.

Whether it came from a clean well or a ruin filled with stagnant water it made no difference for Oscar, not as long as it quenched his thirst.

Still, he wasn’t going to wake Solaire up if he was still asleep. He would wait patiently for him to wake up on his own, and then—

“Solaire?” Oscar said as his heart dropped to his stomach. He had looked at the same spot by the tree where the sunlight knight had fallen asleep, only to discover it was empty.

With his heart racing inside his chest, Oscar looked at the structure near the bonfire. Solaire’s sword and shield, as well as his tunic adorned with a clumsily hand-drawn sun, were gone.

Oscar’s crest shield was carefully placed in front of his feet, with his blue tunic folded on top of it.

“Solaire?” Oscar asked again, though shouting was a more fitting term given the volume of his confused voice. “Solaire!”

Nothing.

He was alone with nothing other than the ever-burning bonfire to keep him company.

“But—” Oscar stuttered, unable to wrap his mind around Solaire’s abrupt departure. “This isn’t what I—”

_No... no!_

Oscar began to swing his body until he got it in a crawling position. The wound on his belly, which had stayed peacefully dormant, punished Oscar with a heavy sting that left him breathless; but it wasn’t enough to stop him.

He didn’t know how, but Oscar was determined to find Solaire. He had turned their last conversation bitter, making their parting terms seem ungrateful on his end.

For all Oscar knew, he had broken Solaire’s spirit for good. And now, he no longer had the chance to set things right.

Solaire hadn’t granted him the opportunity. Why should he after the treatment he had received at Oscar’s hands?

As much of a kind man he was, he had his limits, and Oscar had gone beyond them.

_No, it cannot end like this. Not again._

“Solaire.” Oscar began to drag his limp body upwards to the same route he had seen Solaire descend when he had returned with their washed tunics. “Don’t go. Please, give me the chance.... to make amends.”

_Solaire._

“Solaire!”

“Oh, would you shut up? You’re worse than a Hollow after it sets itself on fire!”

Oscar smiled at the voice coming from behind a wall of stone.

“Solaire. You’re—”

“Solaire? Oh, you mean, that big fellow with a strange fetish for the sun? Sorry mate, but he left the shrine a while ago.” A bald man appeared before Oscar. He twitched his mouth in disgust. “By the Lords, you’re one ugly fellow! Don’t worry, just make sure to hide half your face and you can still pass as a dashing knight! And what the hell is up with your voice? Did you swallow a Hollow and it got stuck in your throat?”

He knelt in front of Oscar and held him by the chin.

"Wait, I know you. You must be the half-Hollow that depressed fool talked about. Well, he's not exactly gaining points for originality with names, is he?"

Oscar tried to break free, but the bald man was much stronger than what his wimpy body implied.

His other hand, so quietly hidden behind his back, finally emerged. Oscar gasped at the sight of the broken coiled sword.

"Half-Hollow, full Hollow, no Hollow at all... it makes no difference to me. When you die, you are all corpses. And corpses are meant to be looted. And let me tell you, that crest shield of yours is worth much more than what that sun-loving idiot paid me."

The bald man pressed the coiled sword against Oscar's temple.

"Sorry mate, you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time."


	10. Epiphanies of the crestfallen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there everyone! Here's an early update! I blame my feelings and the great ammount of free time in my hands.  
> Thank you all so much for reading/leaving kudos and to ammyretsu, RiriRule4ever, PanDeTorao and Mrs Littletall for the comments! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

The stone platform began to descend.

Solaire stood right in the middle. His mind was so lost in thought he didn’t notice the decayed state of the rusty chains that dragged the old elevator downwards. Few people would be daring enough to take their chances and use the antique contraption, even more so if they were aware of the cursed place that waited for them at the deep end of the tunnel.

None of it mattered to Solaire. At that moment, the storm forming within himself was a greater challenge than anything the cursed land of Lordran could throw at him.

_An idiot and a hypocrite._

The terms fluttered inside his mind.

The former was a label Solaire had long accepted to be inherent to his own being. It had followed him his entire life; even after achieving knighthood, he hadn’t been able to get rid of his reputation as a hopeless fool.

The people he helped often regarded him as annoying, and few were the ones who genuinely thanked him or didn’t try to trick him in the process.

The treatment he had received from his fellow Astorans knights had been no kinder. They had always considered him unfit for knighthood despite his physical strength. No matter how much Solaire trained or improved his skills, it was never enough to earn their respect.

What he lacked went beyond his fighting talent, which had never been too highly praised by his superiors in the first place.

He simply didn’t have what it took to be a great knight.

_An elite knight of Astora._

Solaire held the sun painted on his chest.

The covenant of the Warriors of Sunlight had been the only place where he had truly belonged.

Righteous knights, guardians of all that was good in the world, in the name of the Lord of Sunlight.

_I can see it now, what the crestfallen meant. It's no wonder I come off as a pretentious, self-righteous idiot._

What had been his reasons to join the covenant in the first place?

Solaire had always believed he had done so out of a personal affinity with its creed.

Despite the little gratitude it earned him, he loved to help people.

The world was a dark place drowned in misery. Every person had their heavy burdens to bear, and if Solaire could aid others with their crosses, he would gladly do so.

And yet, there was something else, something the crestfallen warrior had pointed out after seeing through Solaire as if he was made of glass.

_I’m weak, perhaps not of body, but of mind... that’s why I’ve always depended on those who are in need of help to make myself feel useful. Deep down, maybe I don’t do it because I’m kind of heart or because I care selflessly about others, I do it only to cope with my incompetence. That’s the reason, the rest are all excuses._

Solaire released his sun and allowed his arm to fall limply against his side.

_And yet, even if you called me a hypocrite..._

The elevator reached its end. Behind an entrance of stone, the ruins of New Londo expected Solaire.

_... you also regarded me as a good man and an outstanding knight._

Solaire took a step forward, his heart beating hard and quickly against his chest. He couldn’t remember being so scared before in his life. It was further proof that he was where he was meant to be.

_Oscar, I know not if you really meant it, but to hear such compliments for the first time fills my soul with hope and strength. You may think of yourself as a failure, but to me, you are a true elite knight of Astora. That’s why I want to prove myself worthy of your words._

Beyond the entrance, Solaire found only flooded ruins long submerged by an ancient flood. The sun hadn’t shone upon that place in centuries.

_To be honest, I’m not doing this only for you. I need to prove it to myself too, that I’m not just a hypocritical and condescending benefactor that uses others to ease his insecurities... I am a Warrior of Sunlight, a knight whose help is selfless and just. Only then will I be able to return to Firelink Shrine and see you in the eye again. Only then can I ask you to forgive me for using you as an excuse for my own cowardice._

Solaire went down a set of ancient stairs. His hand was firmly placed on top of the handle of his sunlight sword. New Londo was riddled with Hollows.

Solaire was expectant of an upcoming attack, but the demented creatures were too immersed in their crazed minds to pay any attention to him.

They were beyond help.

Solare pitied them. He never would have expected Hollows would incite sentiments of those kind in him.

Yet, the gloomy feeling brought a sense relief to his mind.

Amidst the darkness the surrounded him, Solaire smiled.

_I never felt this way towards you, Oscar. Now I know for sure._

The sun, though out of sight, must have noticed the boost that occurred on Solaire’s wavering faith, and it rewarded him with an encounter that was nothing short of being a miracle.

Solaire stopped at the sight of the crestfallen warrior sitting in front of him, right at the middle of the platform that divided the entrance from the old bridge that granted access to the ruins.

His back was turned on Solaire. The crestfallen’s chainmail was soaked wet; it had formed a large puddle underneath his body.

That was strange. Had the crestfallen warrior fancied a swim after running away from Firelink Shrine?

Solaire could comprehend that swimming was perhaps a method the crestfallen had to calm down his nerves, but how would anyone dare to enter the cursed waters of New Londo was beyond his understanding.

_I’m not here to judge him. What matters is that he has regained his composure._

“There you are.” Solaire said.

The crestfallen ignored him.

Solaire hadn’t expected anything else.

He knew it was as difficult for the crestfallen to accept his help as it was for Solaire to grant it to him.

The man had done great damage to him.

His venomous words had left profound scars in his heart and faith. They would take long to heal, if they ever did at all.

His treatment of Oscar still made Solaire fume with rage. Had Solaire not stopped him, the crestfallen warrior would have beaten Oscar to death, and for that he hadn’t forgiven him, just like he hadn’t forgiven himself for having remained idle during much of the incident.

He had insulted Astora.

He had made fun of all the knights that died while trying to bring hope back to the world.

And he’d had so much fun while doing so.

Solare’s upper lip quivered as the tension on his jaw grew, leaving his neck as stiff as a tree.

He had never found it so difficult to offer his help to a person before in his life.

He wasn’t sure the other deserved it to begin with.

_And that’s why you are the one I need to help the most now._

Solaire hesitated for a moment, fearing he was acting out of a deluded sense of superiority. Knowing he would trap himself in and endless loop of self-doubting if he allowed those thoughts to run free, Solaire steeled his heart and carried on.

“I came looking for you.” Noticing the cold formality of his tone, Solaire did his best to add more warm to his voice. “I didn’t expect to find you so quickly, but I’m glad I did.”

The crestfallen warrior, whose head had remained glued to his chest, slowly straightened his back.

Good.

At least it was a sign that he was listening.

“What happened back in the shrine... Well, it’s in the past now. Listen, I know you hate me, and I’m not going to pretend I like you either, but that doesn’t matter right now. Our problems are not something that can be solved with just a few words, but there’s no need for you to stay here all by yourself any longer.”

Solaire discovered that his initial resistance was disappearing. The more he talked, the easier it came to him to offer his help.

He also realized that the resentment he held against the crestfallen warrior wasn’t as strong or bitter as he had thought.

He didn’t pity the warrior at all. What he was starting to feel for the crestfallen was similar to what he felt towards Oscar, though not as pure or intense.

_I understand._

Solaire removed his helmet and carefully placed it down on the floor.

_I don’t excuse what you did to me, nor do I want to pretend you didn’t cause me a great deal of pain, but I can understand why you did it. That’s why, right now, I hope... no, I want to lend you my help in the sincerest way possible, and do it not for my sake, but for your own._

“Let’s go back.” Solaire knelt behind the crestfallen and put his hand on his shoulder. “What do you say?”

The crestfallen put a hand above Solaire’s.

“Very well.” Solaire said, his voice as warm as the sun itself. “Can you walk? If not, I can help—”

Solaire couldn’t finish. His wrist screamed in pain when the crestfallen twisted his hand upwards until it touched the edge of his metal bracelet.

By instinct, Solaire’s other hand rushed on top of the crestfallen’s in a desperate attempt to break free from his unyielding grip.

“What are you doing?!” Solaire’s voice echoed across the flooded ruins. The Hollows nearby cowered in fear while others ran away in panic. “Stop this right now! Have you gone—”

_Mad._

It was all Solaire meant to say, but when the crestfallen turn his head around, he discovered the term was no longer appropriate to describe his state of being.

_Hollow._

“No.” Solaire stuttered. “How can this be?”

In sanity, the crestfallen warrior would have answered to his stupid question with a roll of his eyes and a mocking scoff, followed by one of his usual insults that poked fun at Solaire’s ignorance.

As a Hollow, the crestfallen turned his whole body around without letting go of Solaire. He pulled him closer to him and tried to stab him in the neck with a broken sword that had long lost its sharpness and color, but could still deal deathly damage with its bluntness if it hit the right spot.

Solaire reacted despite his growing despair and blocked the weapon with his other metal bracelet. The force of his unexpected blocking caught the crestfallen off guard. Solaire took advantage of the moment and freed his hand.

With a nimble maneuver, Solaire managed to create a decent distance between him and the other, but the success and relief he should have felt were tainted by reality.

_Why?_

Moved only by his need to protect his own life, Solaire unsheathed his sword and talisman. His shield remained firmly set on his back.

With a sadness he couldn’t hide, Solaire looked up at the crestfallen, or better said, to the empty shell that had once been a man.

The Hollow had no expression on his blank face. Two empty eye holes had replaced the snarky orbs that Solaire had grown accustomed to see each time he looked at the crestfallen warrior.

The eternal sarcasm imprinted in them had always been nothing but annoying for Solaire, but in that moment, he longed for that expression with a nostalgia so powerful that a lump almost formed in his throat.

_Why did this happen?_

This time, Solaire swallowed his potential tears.

There was no place for crying during battle.

_Who did this?_

The Hollow rushed at Solaire.

Solaire, clinging to his talisman, readied himself to cast a miracle.

Nothing happened.

His faith was not powerful enough; it became painfully clear the moment the Hollow’s broken sword dig its way into his left arm.

_Was it me?_

* * *

“Don’t you worry.” The bald man’s hand travelled from Oscar’s chin down to this neck. The coiled sword’s drew blood as its warm sharp ends were forcefully pressed against his temple. “It’ all be over soon. You won’t feel a thing, my dear knight, and you should be grateful for it. If you were a cleric, I wouldn’t be half as merciful.”

The bald man twisted the sword. Whatever expression was drawn on Oscar’s face was enough to make the scoundrel laugh with all the power of his lungs.

Oscar looked at him. He held the other’s wrist, but he did so with so little strength that the man didn’t notice his touch and kept laughing with his head up towards the sky.

_Is this my fate?_

His body began to lose the energy he had regained under Solaire’s care and his prolonged rest near the bonfire.

_To die at the hands of this scoundrel?_

A knot formed in his stomach, not too far away from his pulsating wound.

To think of Solaire had become no less distressing than remembering the Chosen Undead.

_Both of you... you sacrificed so much trying to help me. I never gave you a good reason to do so. Even now, I don’t understand why either of you tried to save someone like me._

Oscar became overwhelmed by shame at the memories of his treatment of Solaire and the Chosen Undead. He tried to convince himself, like the coward he was, that his actions had been justified, but no excuse he tried to construct was enough to offer him true solace.

_I couldn’t even thank you the way you two deserved._

“Oi, are you there? Don’t ignore me when I’m talking to you!” The bald man began to shake Oscar as if he was a rag doll. He separated the coiled sword form his temple and began to hit Oscar with it on top of his head. “You’ve got no manners at all!”

Despite the rough treatment, Oscar remained unresponsive. He cared not in the slightest for the bald man and his need of acknowledgement.

The people he was addressing in his mind meant too much to him to let the childish behavior of a vulgar rogue interfere.

_Chosen Undead._

“Oh, forget it, you’re no fun at all.”

The bald man threw Oscar to a side. Oscar rolled twice before he could finally stop his landing and lay down on his chest.

The wound on his belly stung sharply enough to transform his breathing into a quick and irregular compilation of gasps. He covered the pulsating scar with one hand while he forced his other to carry his entire weight.

Disoriented, he looked around. He had landed dangerously close to the bonfire. The image of seeing his life and body being reduced to ashes filled him with horror.

_He almost killed me._

The thought’s initial dreadfulness was cut short as the second passed.

_Why am I so scared of losing my life? I’d just be reborn again, and then this man would kill me once more until I go Hollow or he gets bored of me. Or maybe I’ll go completely Hollow now and find true death at his hands... Why should this horrify me? Isn’t this what I deserve? Isn’t death what I’ve been longing for since you gave your life to save mine?_

“Seriously? Are you not gonna put up a fight? Are you sure you are a knight?” The bald man said as he moved to Oscar’s side and pushed him away from the bonfire with his foot.

“No, clearly you’re not. I bet your armor is just some memento you looted from a real knight you killed before arriving here, and the same goes for that crest shield. Well, I never thought I would find a kindred spirit in this boring place! Suddenly, I won’t feel so bad about killing you anymore; after all, a thief that robs a thief is nothing short of a hero.”

Oscar tried to rise up again, but the man kept him down by stomping his boot against his back. A drowned scream escaped Oscar’s mouth.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you? What a wuss! Seriously now, you’re so pathetic you’re almost making feel like I’m the bad guy here. That’s not fair, now is it?” He said, slowly releasing Oscar. “I’m doing nothing wrong. I’m sure you agree, don’t you?”

Oscar knew the answer.

Scared he would give it away to the thief if he remained still a second more, he focused his strength in dragging himself closer to his crest shield. Rather than trying to stop him, the bald man watched him, wholly entertained, as if Oscar was a slug trying to run away from a cruel child.

_Chosen Undead, I can never atone from what I did to you._

“Go on, you’re almost there!” The bald man cheered as Oscar finally made it to the shield and put a hand on top of it. “Well done! All the snails of Lordran are envious of your talent.”

_Chosen Undead, I feel as if I’ve betrayed fate itself by being alive while you remain dead. I once called you a foul thief, but I’m the one worthy of such title. The prophecy was yours to fulfill, you were the true Chosen Undead. I was merely the catalyst that would enable your predestinated journey, but you decided otherwise. You saved me, you gave me a second chance... but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore. I don’t know how I can repay you for this gift you gave to me. I’m not capable of anything anymore. I don’t think I ever was._

Oscar’s fingers caressed the surface of his shield. The dents scattered all over he had once hated now felt natural to his touch, as if they had always been part of the shield’s original design.

_I don’t know what my fate is._

“Alright, enough of this.” The bald man said, catching his breath after an amused and long laughter. He knelt next to Oscar and grabbed him by the wrist.

_But even so..._

“No more touching my future goods. I don’t want your Hollow-ness to infect the shield. That could lower its price quite a bit... though now that I look at it more carefully, it is already in pretty bad shape. Oh well, I’m sure that Shiva moron of the East will still be willing to pay a good price for this piece of junk. It wouldn’t be the first time he pays me a generous amount for old trinkets that aren’t worth my—”

Oscar knew he would have no other chance. He acted swiftly, before the other could even attempt to stop him.

Distracted by his blabbering, the bald man couldn’t react in time to stop Oscar’s wrist before it escaped his fingers. When he became aware of his mistake, it was already too late, and the only thing he could do was to stay still with his mouth agape in surprise before the crest shield delivered a crushing blow to his face.

Oscar showed no mercy. The power in his swing didn’t falter, not even when he felt and heard how the man’s bones were crushed by the impact of the metal.

He kept pushing, ignoring his pain and exhaustion, until the bald man darted away from him and crashed against a stone wall.

The man remained still and unresponsive, his body stuck on a pathetic imitation of a sitting posture, his head hanging limply against his right shoulder. His nose was a shapeless mass of blood, and from his mouth, a broken tooth fell.

Oscar stared at his deed. Just when he had been about to feel pity for the man, the scoundrel regained his senses. He hid his destroyed face behind his hands and screamed in agony.

“You goddamn bastard!” The bald man cried, struggling to get back on his feet. He failed at first, but he was starting to regain his balance little by little. “My face, my face... What did I do to deserve this? What did I do? ”

Oscar had no time to spare. He knew he had to get up and prepare for battle. Regardless of how pathetic the other’s screams were, Oscar could hear his desire for revenge in his voice.

_Chosen Undead._

Using his crest shield as support, Oscar began to stand up.

His body rejected the idea. It did everything in its power to make him stop. His limbs hurt, they trembled, they faltered, they failed him and made him fall to the ground again just when Oscar had been about to stand on his own feet.

Oscar didn’t give in. He kept trying, no matter how many times he failed or how fervently his body insisted on keeping him glued to the ground.

_Solaire._

“You’ll pay for this!” The bald man exclaimed,; he was already standing. “I’ll give you a death so horrible that it’ll make you go full Hollow!”

After a prolonged struggle he had been about to lose, Oscar’s body succumbed to his will and did his biding, though not without dozens of complaints in the form of sparks of pain that traveled through his every nerve.

_I did so many horrible things to you both. Everything I did, everything I said was filled with venom. A poison I intended only for myself but that I, in my weakness, didn’t hesitate to spread among you as well. And now, you are gone. It was all my doing._

Standing on his own demanded a heavy toll from Oscar. His breathing never fully stabilized, and he continued to pant heavily. More than a knight prepared for battle, he had the semblance of an old man about to faint.

_I cannot make amends for my actions, I cannot repay my debt to you, I cannot change the past. My selfishness, my self-pity, my doubts, my incompetence; even now, their chains remain._

The arm where he held his crest shield was the first part of his being that stopped trembling. Slowly, just after he raised the shield in front of his chest, the rest of his body began to settle down. The spasms never ceased, but they no longer were incapacitating.

_But even so... even if I don’t know what my purpose is anymore, even if I’m not worthy of any kind of fate, I cannot just stand still and let this man have his way. I won’t let it end like this. I can’t waste your sacrifices and let it all go to waste. I can’t do that to neither of you... I can’t!_

“Are you serious?” The bald man sneered at Oscar. “You think you can defeat me with your shield alone? Well, think again, half- Hollow! I won’t fall for the same trick twice!”

He wielded the coiled sword as he would a dagger.

“Come then! I’ll make you regret you ever crossed paths with Trusty Patches!”

_Solaire, Chosen Undead!_

Their battle formally started when the thief attempted a jump attack directed at Oscar’s head.

He blocked it.

His arms begged Oscar to stop, both out of pain and resignation, but he ignored them. His body could still be eager to go back to its everlasting sulking state, but Oscar’s mind no longer shared that wish.

He countered the attack. The thief dodged it, but judging by his delayed reaction, Oscar could tell he hadn’t expected him to have the strength necessary to defend himself properly.

_What is my fate? What is my purpose? The man I thought I was is gone. My past is a fading shadow, my future is an unachievable lost dream... but my present still exists, and I owe it all to you. I’m not sure where it will lead me, or if there’s really somewhere it can take me; and yet, right now, burdened as I am with my chains, as trapped as I am in my own self, I decide to stand up and fight._

Oscar rushed towards the thief. The wound the coiled sword had left behind no longer felt like a keepsake of his failures. The constant pain it gave him was not a distraction.

_For your sake. And perhaps..._

It was a reminder he was still alive.

_Even for my own._

* * *

It was over.

It hadn’t taken long at all.

It couldn’t have been any other way.

He had barely presented a challenge for the sunlight knight when he was a normal Undead. He’d never stood a chance now that he was Hollow.

_This is it._

He thought as he laid on the floor as a pool of his own blood formed under his back.

_I’m dying for good._

The crestfallen warrior didn’t know how he was capable of thought during the last moments of his existence. His lucidity, lost in the shadows of fear and madness, had returned to him out of nowhere, not long after the sunlight knight had delivered the killing blow in the form on a stab to his heart.

_You could have killed me much sooner. Why didn’t you? Was watching me fight in this deplorable state amusing to you? You’re cruel, warrior of sunlight. Maybe you do belong in Lordran after all._

He heard the thump of the knight’s knees as he collapsed next to his inert body. The crestfallen warrior looked at his face, and what he saw didn’t surprise him.

_Really now, about to cry for a Hollow you just defeated? You hopeless fool. Astorans are all the same... well, maybe not all of them. I am the perfect example._

The crestfallen breathed out a faint chuckle. The ruins of Anor Londo were so immersed in silence that it didn’t pass unnoticed for the knight of sunlight.

The crestfallen saw him staring at him in disbelief, he even dared to say he did so with hope.

_Foolish, foolish knight._

“Up above the Undead church.” The crestfallen said with what little breath he had left. “Under the ruins of Blight town.”

“What?” The warrior of sunlight stuttered.

“The bells of awakening.” The crestfallen warrior continued. He couldn’t remember when it had been the last time his voice came free of disdain or mockery. It made him sound like a completely different man.

_Well, that’s probably because my voice now sounds as awful as that elite knight’s. Just when I was starting to romanticize things..._

“The bells.” He looked at the knight of sunlight. “Ring them both...and something will happen. Surely this will be of help to you and that unsufferable half-Hollow back in the shrine, won’t it? I hope with all my heart that it will.”

“Don’t talk! I don’t... I don’t have an Estus Flask with me anymore, but you’ll be alright! I’ll take you back to Firelink Shrine and—”

“No, knight. I’m not getting out of this alive. Death has taken over my body. Soon, my soul will follow. You’re such an idiot if you dare to think otherwise. You were a fool to come looking for me in the first place... but I’m grateful you did.”

The crestfallen warrior made sure to take one last look at him before he closed his eyes for good. 

_Is this it? Is this what my whole life boils down to? Was I born just to give this fool and his comrade one feeble piece of advice? After surviving for so long, is this fool’s face full of grief the last thing I’ll ever see? Everything I ever did... was all for this?_

“Thank you, Solaire.” The crestfallen said after laughing one last time.

_It's not a bad fate.  
_

He began to fade away into the wind.

_Not at all.  
_

* * *

There was nothing he could do. Deep inside his heart, Solaire knew it well, but a lingering regret kept whispering in his ear.

He could have avoided it. He could have saved him.

He had failed.

His hands fell right where the crestfallen warrior had just been a second ago, before his body vanished into nothingness.

Solaire didn’t cry for his departure. Inside him, there was only emptiness.

He wondered if Oscar would approve of his numb indifference.

Solaire wished he would.

It was the only thing he had left to hope for.

Solaire let go of his sword and talisman. Of the two, the latter was the heaviest, despite having proven to be nothing but useless during the battle.

"Oh, my sun."

Around him, the Hollows, completely uncaring of his existance, continued with their endless lamentations.

"My sun."


	11. True to yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! How are you?  
> Okay, so... I've decided to change the total of chapters to the old reliable "?". Idk, I think it is a better option than to keep changing the total chapters all the time. I know I probably should have done this since the beginning, but I seriously never expected I would expand this fic so much, it really came as a surprise even to me haha. I don't think there are too many chapters left, but I do know there are more than whatever number I may have on mind right now lol. 
> 
> As always, thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to MrsLittletall and RiriRules4Ever for the comments! I'm so glad you've been enjoying the story so far! I'm always open to criticism as well, so don't be shy to let me know if you ever feel I'm dropping the quality or making any other mistake :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

“A knight looking down at you as the clouds in the grey sky slowly move in the background.” A deep growl purred inside Kaathe’s throat. “Why do you treasure this image with all your heart, little Hollow? No matter how I see it, I find nothing special about it at all; and yet, it fills you with overflowing passion.”

Maybe it was because of the enormous rift between the nature of humans and primordial serpents that Kaathe couldn’t make sense of the Hollow’s memory, but he was too intrigued to give up so easily.

“This knight, he saved you... but you weren’t happy about it at all. You thought he had stopped the Hollowing you had longed for most of your life. Silly creature, so ignorant about your own self, so obsessed with something you already had. You could have stayed at the Asylum for all eternity and you would have never Hollowed, for you already were Hollow long before you arrived there.”

Still, perhaps he was being too strict with the creature sleeping peacefully inside his mouth. After all, they were the first sane Hollow capable of thought and emotion he had ever encountered. They were an anomaly created by the Pygmy’s blood running through their veins.

“Could you be something else?” Kaathe asked to the darkness. “Not an exception, but a harbinger?”

It was only hope born from wishful thinking, but Kaathe still took it seriously.

“It’s not very probable, but nothing in this world is impossible.”

Kaathe had lived long enough to know that there was no such thing as ‘unique’ in the world. Some individuals could prove to be rarer than others and be more capable of bringing forth a real change, as had been the case with the Four Lords.

In this sense, Kaathe considered them _special_ , but he did not think of them as one-of-a-kind wonders that were worthy of endless mourning if they failed or perished.

“Gods and humans all think they are so extraordinary, as if the fate of the world depended on your pitiful existences. Do you not know that the world cares not about you at all? None of you are indispensable, none of you are irreplaceable, not even those who stand out from the crowd, for when you are gone, someone else will always come to take your place.”

_If this is the case..._

Kaathe moved the Hollow from his tongue and placed them right between his teeth.

_Even if I killed you now and swallowed your tattered corpse, it wouldn’t be the end of sentient Hollows, would it? You may be the first, but you are not the last._

He hesitated for a moment. Then, he put the Hollow back on the wet surface of his tongue.

_The pygmy’s blood. How much is your current state related to its influence? I don’t know, little Hollow. Perhaps these are only the musings of an old snake, but they conflict me. And it feels... good. For the first time in ages, I feel as if I could aspire to a new and bigger purpose, far away from the awful monotony of being forever waiting for my Dark Lord._

Kaathe smiled.

“Look at me, getting all sentimental over some pitiful idea that has little chances of success. Am I so accustomed to nothing, that I would become so easily obsessed with anything?”

Kaathe blinked twice before the realization made his eyes widen.

“Of course. This is why you treasure the memory of the knight with so much devotion, Little Hollow.” He said, tilting his neck back and forth soothingly. “Isn’t it?”

The Hollow replied in dreams.

Kaathe repeated the answer out loud.

“Oscar, elite knight of Astora.”

* * *

“Goddamn bastard.” The bald man hissed as he recovered from an intended lethal blow delivered to his neck with the shield's edge. He coughed and put a hand on the growing bruise spreading from his neck to his throat. “You almost killed me.”

Oscar had put what remained of his strength on that final swing, hoping it would end the battle once and for all. For a second, he had been sure of his success, but fate had soon punished him for his arrogance again, as if to remind Oscar that all his efforts were meaningless.

He had fought with all the courage his feeble heart had been capable of mustering and all the power left in his muscles and bones. Even after the bald man had discovered the vulnerable spot on his belly and had attacked it mercilessly, Oscar had continued to fight.

It hadn’t been enough.

_Chosen Undead, Solaire._

He had failed.

_Forgive me._

Against his wishes, his legs failed him. He fell to his knees. Oscar managed to keep his torso away from the ground by using his shield as support, but it didn’t make his posture any less pathetic.

“You fight pretty well for a loser. Maybe you are a real knight after all.” The bald man scoffed. He cleaned the blood leaking from his broken nose with his thumb and stared at it. “What a mess you made of me. To tell you the truth, I never would have imagined you would be so much trouble to kill. I was careless... and too merciful.”

Oscar almost laughed at the last assertion. The bald man had only showed him spite and savagery during their battle. He had also cackled scornfully at Oscar’s offer for a truce.

Oscar had only done so when, after noticing signs of exhaustion in his opponent, he had thought him capable of accepting the offer, especially since, at that moment, the tables had turned and Oscar’s chances of winning had been at their highest point.

Looking back, Oscar saw how naïve he had been.

_I was too prideful as well. Showing mercy against a scoundrel, as if I still could consider myself an honorable knight like Solaire._

The bald man put down his hand and started walking towards Oscar.

“I was going to give you a gentle death, you know?” The man said, closing the distance between Oscar and him with every step he took. “Sure, I played around with you a bit, but it was all just some good-natured fun. I never intended to hurt you the way you hurt me, you lousy monster.”

Oscar raised his shield in an attempt to protect himself one last time, but it was no obstacle for the bald man, and he easily put the barrier out of the way with a single kick. Before Oscar had the chance to try the same again, the bald man grabbed him by the neck and lunged him backwards.

Once he had Oscar pinned to the floor, the bald man sat on his chest and put the coiled sword just inches away from his face.

“But now, I’ve changed my mind. I’m still going to kill you, but first, allow me to repay all the pain and trouble you’ve caused me. Truly, this is the least you can do after being so needlessly cruel to me, don’t you think?”

Oscar, struggling to find his breath as the bloodied hand of the thief squeezed his throat in a crushing grip, could only answer with a bitter glare.

“Hey, don’t give me that look! I’m innocent, you did this to yourself.” The bald man grinned maliciously and lifted the coiled sword above his head. “I know, I’ll start by plucking those beautiful Astoran eyes out of your face. I bet someone in this twisted land would be interested in buying them. Nothing is impossible in Lordran... except for my mercy.”

Without further announcement, the sword plummeted down.

Oscar’s hand stopped the blow before it could reach its goal. It had been a reflex motivate by a latent thought in his mind.

_Keep fighting. If you can’t do it for yourself... then do it for them._

“Why do you keep struggling?!” The bald man said in frustration as Oscar’s strength proved to be harder to break than he had expected. “I’ve had enough of this! You’ve already wasted too much of my time.”

He removed his hand from Oscar’s neck.

Oscar had no time to enjoy the cooling relief of his renewed breathing as a greater agony soon took its place. He screamed in pain as the bald man relentlessly rubbed and pushed his thumb against his wound.

Though protected by his chainmail, the pressure and friction of the circular movements passed directly to the soft and scarring flesh.

“Oh I’m sorry, am I hurting you?” the bald man said with an amused undertone. “Alright, I’ll stop now, but first.”

He used his thumb’s fingernail to sharpen his touch and pressed it against Oscar as if it was a knife.

Oscar screamed again, this time loud enough to make his own ears ring. Meanwhile, the bald man looked down at him with a victorious smile that unveiled all his teeth.

“This is all your fault.” The bald man exclaimed as his strength finally started to defeat Oscar’s. "You hear me, half-hollow? I did nothing. This is all because of you! I’m not killing you, you’re killing yourself! Just like that sullen—”

The bald man’s expression became a shocked grimace as he was lifted off Oscar.

Free of his weight, Oscar laid limply on the ground and felt as if time had gone back and he was again at the Asylum, when he had been almost defeated by the Hollows, saved only by the raven’s arrival.

Oscar had almost come to believe he had never left that place, that everything that had happened afterwards had been an illusion created by his delirious mind, and that at any moment, he would go Hollow and kill the freshly tortured Chosen Undead by himself.

“Oscar!”

A familiar voice he thought he would never hear again brought Oscar back to Firelink Shrine. A moment later, his blurry sight regained its focus and he could confirm that his ears hadn’t tricked him.

“Solaire.” Oscar lost his voice, not because of the pain of his open wound, but out of emotional disbelief.

And happiness too.

For a moment, everything seemed to make sense in the world.

_Thank you._

Oscar smiled at his friend.

_Thank you for coming back._

* * *

“Oscar.”

One of his hands travelled swiftly to Oscar’s side as he gently used the other to hold his head.

His fingers and palms became instantly soaked with warm blood.

Oscar’s blood.

“Oscar.” Solaire said in between his agitated panting.

His friend said something to him. Solaire didn’t listen. He had no time to lose, he had to save him. He had to stop his bleeding and his pain before he went Hollow.

“Don’t leave me.”

Shaking as if he was high with fever, Solaire immediately looked for his Estus Flask hanging from his belt, and cursed his idiocy when he remembered he no longer had it with him because, in his clumsiness, he had shattered it.

“I’ll help you, Oscar.” Solaire stuttered as beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. “You’ll be okay, I promise. But please, don’t go Hollow. Please...”

_Not you too._

Oscar tried to speak again, but Solaire left his side before he could hear him. He lunged himself at the same spot where he remembered last seeing the crestfallen put his own and Oscar’s Estus Flasks. Crawling, he looked as carefully as his frenzied mind allowed him, but he found nothing.

_No._

Solaire’s hand wet with blood made him slip and he slammed his forehead against a stone tile. He was back up immediately, too immersed in his despair to feel any sort of physical pain.

Just when hope seemed to have been lost forever thanks to his incompetence, Solaire found his cooking pot. He had forgotten completely about it, but in that instant, it felt like a gift sent by the Lord of Sunlight himself.

To his dismay, the pot had been turned over, either by the crestfallen when he had run away, or by Oscar and the scoundrel during what seemed to have been a long fight.

Solaire swallowed the bitter aftertaste his anxiety had plastered in his mouth and throat and picked up the pot. He inspected its insides, his heart sinking to his feet when he felt how lightly it weighted.

A large portion of the soup had been spilled, but some remained. It was very little, but perhaps it was enough to keep Oscar from Hollowing.

A darker thought infiltrated his mind. If Oscar’s wound had been too heavily reopened, Solaire would have to seal it with fire again, just like the crestfallen had done.

The image formed a hole in his chest. He doubted Oscar, no matter how recovered he became after drinking the Estus soup, would be able to endure the agony of a second cauterization without Hollowing.

Solaire didn’t even know how he had managed to keep his sanity after the first time, and the mere thought of being the one responsible of making a Hollow out of Oscar was more than he could bear without feeling a chilling emptiness spreading from his heart.

“It’s alright.” Solaire said to himself with a hollow chuckle. “I’ll solve everything, that I will.”

Before he knew it, he was back at Oscar’s side. He lifted his head from the ground and, without giving time to Oscar to ask or complain, Solaire fed him the soup with desperate intent. He noticed Oscar’s disgusted expression at the broth’s taste, but it didn’t matter to Solaire, and he didn’t stop, not until all the soup from the pot was gone.

Once it was done, he threw the utensil away and stared at Oscar, who was trapped in a small coughing fit after the forceful healing.

Solaire’s breath hitched in his throat when Oscar slowly began to regain color in his face and his breathing stabilized into a more relaxed pace.

Still, when Solaire looked at the hollowed half of his face, he couldn’t help to think it had spread its influence farther.

“Don’t go Hollow.” Solaire whispered to Oscar, holding him closer. “Don’t go Hollow.”

Once more, Solaire covered Oscar’s bleeding wound with his hand. He pressed it gently, not strongly enough to cause pain to Oscar but with the necessary force to keep more blood from leaking out.

Oscar muttered something, but to Solaire his words were only senseless blabbering.

“I’m sorry I left you alone.” The rushed words broke his voice. “I wasn’t trying to abandon you, I swear. I needed to go away for a moment. I had to—”

He bit his tongue until it bled, unable to confess to Oscar anything about his failed quest to bring the crestfallen back.

“Oscar, don’t go Hollow.” Solaire pleaded, unable to keep his shaking arms under control. “Promise me you won’t.”

Oscar answered. Solaire didn’t understand him, or maybe he did. In any case, his anxious heart demanded further reassurance.

“Promise me, Oscar.” He repeated, unaware of the growing pressure he was inflicting on Oscar’s wound. “Promise me!”

_If you do, I’ll—_

“Oi... what happened? It feels as if a mule had kicked me in the head.”

Solaire straightened his back as soon as the thief’s voice reached him.

“By the lords, how the hell did you manage to punch me? You bloody half-Hollow! You just don’t know when to give up, do you?” The thief, whose name Solaire had never bothered to correctly remember, gasped in horror once the dizziness of his brief unconsciousness dissipated. “Solaire! What are you doing... Oh.”

A small and innocent giggling followed.

Solaire felt his whole body going stiff and tense, all while his heartbeat sent boiling blood to his head and eyes, turning his sight red.

“Wait, I know how this looks, but I can explain.” The thief continued with a carefree tone. “We were only sparring, nothing serious. Hollowy there got a bit carried away... but that’s okay, I forgive him. He is half-Hollow after all, it’s not his fault he can’t control himself.”

Solaire lifted his hand from Oscar’s wound and stared at it.

“I had to hurt him to make him stop, but I didn’t mean to harm him! It was all in self-defense, I’m sure you understand.”

_He did this._

Solaire clenched his hand into a shaking fist from which Oscar’s blood dripped.

 _I heard you screaming, Oscar_.

“Oh, come on, don’t give me the silent treatment. Look, I’m sorry, alright? There, I said it, now we can all be friends. Undead pals... and a half-Hollow, but still a friend nonetheless.”

“I’ll set this right, Oscar.” Solaire whispered to his friend as he gently put his head back on the floor.

“Still won’t a say word to me? Please Solaire, the least I want is for you to think I’m the bad guy here. I want us to be on good terms. Trust me, here in Lordran, friends are not something you find around every corner, so you’d do well to make sure you don’t lose one over some silly misunderstanding.” The man insisted. The roll of his eyes was audible in his voice. “I know, to prove how sorry I am, even if I’ve done nothing wrong, how about I give you and Hollowy some peace offerings? Just some little friendly gifts from your pal, Trusty Patches.”

Oscar tried to grab Solaire’s wrist, but the knight of sunlight stood up too quickly for him to catch him.

“First, a gift for my new two-faced sparring partner!” The thief announced. “A piece freshly ripped Humanity! Don’t ask me how I got it, it’s a secret. Next, two Estus Flasks for my two best friends! I found them lying close to the bonfire... were they yours? If they are, I’m terribly sorry for having picked them up, but I had no idea! I’ll leave them right here, free of charge.”

Solaire turned around. Patches dedicated to him the sunniest of his smiles.

“Not enough? Someone’s in a greedy mood today! I didn’t expect such attitude from you Solaire, but I guess we can all indulge in our avarice from time to time.” Patches said with feigned indignation. “Fine, fine! You drive a hard bargain. The sacrifices I make for my friends...”

Patches clicked his tongue and denied with his head as he searched inside his pocket. By then, Solaire was already less than a meter away from him.

“Behold! A ring, one I’m sure will prove to be invaluable for our dear pal Hollowy! What does it do, you ask? It’s quite simple. See, you put it on and then—”

Solaire’s knuckles silenced Patches’ mouth as they crashed directly into his cheek. The crack of a bone being broken in half filled the air.

A gelid silence fell upon Firelink Shrine. It lasted completely uninterrupted until the moment when Patches, crawling pathetically on the ground with a hand above his destroyed cheekbone, looked at Solaire, his eyes welling with tears.

Solaire cared not about the pitiful look of the scoundrel, and he felt nothing for his disgusting expression of incredulity.

Nothing except for hate and resentment.

“Why, Solaire?” Patches asked as he curled into a fetal position and protected his face behind the safety of his arms. Even in that defeated position, the snake didn’t stop spitting venom and lies. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry... please don’t hurt me. Solaire, you’re a Warrior of Sunlight, surely you wouldn’t hurt an innocent—”

Solaire made quick job of the ineffective barrier of Patches’ arms and grabbed him by the neck. He could have ended his life there and squashed his throat like an eggshell. It would be an easy feat for Solaire, but that would be unfair.

The thief didn’t not deserve an end so painless and quick, not after what he had done to Oscar.

“S-Solaire.” Patches muttered, his eyes turning red with the trapped blood in his face.

Solaire let go of him, but only to punch him again, this time thrice as hard as he had done before.

Patches let out a high-pitched cry of fear and pain and tried to escape the scene, but there was no escaping from Solaire. To the knight, the man was nothing but a troublesome spider that deserved to be squashed.

_You almost made Oscar go Hollow. You almost took him from me, and for that I won’t forgive you. Not ever._

“I don’t want to fight! Please stop, Solaire! I don’t want this.... I don’t want to die!” Patches kept on squealing like the rat he was, but he was wasting his breath. Solaire’s ears were deaf to his pleas; the only thing he was worth receiving from him was punishment. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Don’t do this to me! Please, I beg of you!”

The more he begged, the crueler Solaire’s attacks became.

_If I had killed you when I first met you, if only I hadn’t been so stupidly naïve to think you would change your ways, if only I had acted like a real knight... If only I hadn’t left Oscar alone, then none of this would have happened!_

“I’ll set things right.” Solaire stated in anguish as he tried to run away from his thoughts, but there was no escape from his mistakes. The only path he had left was in front of him, in the form of the thief he needed to destroy to make atonement for all the harm his stupidity had caused. “I’ll kill you, as I should have done long ago! Such is the way of a true knight of Lordran!”

“What did I do?” Patches wept in between the unending flurries of punches that continued to drive him closer to the confines of death. “What did I...”

* * *

Oscar had seen that same look before. He was not able to recall exactly the circumstances, but he recognized that ice-cold glare as proper of men and women that found pleasure destroying other people’s spirits and reducing them to shells of their former beings.

The bald man’s eyes had traces of it too, but his version had lacked the murderous bloodlust Oscar had seen so clearly on Solaire’s.

 _"_ It’s alright, Soilare.” Oscar had said to the knight, eager to calm him down and erase from his face that dreadful expression so unnatural of him. “I’m not going Hollow. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

It had been for naught.

No matter how much Oscar had tried to bring peace to his friend’s heart, Solaire was out of reach, too lost in the passion of a vengeful wrath.

“I’ll set this right, Oscar.”

“Don’t do this, Solaire.” Oscar had begged to him. He had tried to get a hold of him, but Solaire had paid no attention to his words or efforts and had left Oscar behind. “Solaire!”

Oscar had witnessed how his fears became reality the moment Solaire first hit the thief with all the strength of his arm.

The sound that came from the thief’s face made Oscar’ blood freeze in his veins. He had hoped Solaire would stop after that, but it had been only the beginning of a merciless battering that soon had transformed into torture.

Watching Solaire unleash his strength in a manner so free of any restraint filled Oscar’s soul with horror.

Solaire was a man capable of great destruction. Any other man with a weaker and more malicious heart would have used that potential for selfish means, completely reassured that few would be brave enough to stand in his way, and even less succeed in stopping him.

But not Solaire.

For all Oscar knew, he had never employed his strength in the service of such petty purposes, and despite all the humiliation and rejection he had suffered throughout his life, Solaire had still found it in his heart to be kind and use his power to help others.

To see him succumb to resentment, reduced to a man willing to put his beliefs aside just to satisfy the foolish need of revenge, was more than Oscar could endure.

He wouldn’t allow it.

Solaire had done much for him. Oscar wasn’t going to just stay still and watch him lose himself in a whirlwind of madness like he had done.

He forced his mildly healed body back on his feet. The wound on his belly was still bleeding, but the hemorrhage wasn’t hindering or lethal.

Even if it was, Oscar wouldn’t have allowed it to stop him.

_It’s now my turn to help you._

Oscar thought as he walked towards Solaire. He made haste when he looked at the thief and saw little signs of life coming from him.

_I’ve tried to help so many Undead before. I’ve always failed._

The Chosen Undead flashed before his eyes.

_But not this time._

Oscar lunged his body directly at Solaire’s arm just as he had been about to deliver what probably would have been the killing blow on the disfigured face of the thief.

More than grabbing it, Oscar hugged the arm against his chest and held it as tightly as he could.

Solaire looked over his shoulder and glared at him, his eyes still gleaming with the hatred he intended for the thief.

“Oscar?” Solaire’s features mellowed, but not for long, and when he spoke again, he sounded more like an angry executioner than a knight. “Don’t interfere. I won’t tell you again.”

“No.” Oscar tried to make his voice sound as firm and unyielding as possible. He strengthened his hold on Solaire's arm, unsure of how long he would be able to stop Solaire if the sunlight knight made an honest effort to free himself. “I won’t let you continue with this, Solaire.”

“Why?” Solaire scowled, his mouth twisting into a furious snarl that came close to succeeding in making Oscar back off. Oscar steeled his heart and firmed his resolve, not for his sake, but for Solaire’s. “Why do you feel mercy for this man, Oscar? After all he’s done, how can you not want him dead?”

“It’s not about what he deserves or what he’s done.” Oscar said imperiously, as if Solaire was a lost squire in dire need of guidance. In a way, Oscar thought, he was. “It’s about what you’re doing to yourself, Solaire. You are not this kind of man. You are a noble knight, a true Warrior of Sunlight.”

Oscar took a deep breath before continuing. With a much kinder and softer tone, he added, “And above all, you are a good man. Please Solaire, do not do this... It's not worth it."

Oscar knew he had no real right to act as if he knew any better, not when he had succumbed to his darkest thoughts so many times before. Solaire most likely thought the same, and Oscar wouldn’t blame him if he decided to shrug off his words as the hypocritical statements of a half- Hollow and failed knight.

Still, Oscar was ready to persist. His past experiences may have denied him the right of ever again thinking he had the moral high ground, but they had granted him knowledge, and if with it Oscar could keep others from making the same mistakes he had committed, he was willing to endure the shame his past caused him and try to make something useful out of it.

_I’ll do it for you._

“Who says I wouldn’t like it?” Solaire turned his head back to the thief by the name of Patches. By then, the scoundrel looked more like a corpse than a breathing man. Oscar could only tell he was alive by the soft whimpers that escaped his bleeding mouth. “What makes you think I don’t want to change, Oscar?”

Oscar’s hold on Solaire’s arm faltered at the cruel statements. He embraced the arm again just as it was about to escape his grasp completely, but the bewilderment Solaire had sown in him remained, and it weakened his limbs to the point of numbness.

“I’m not a noble knight, I’m an idiot.” Solaire continued without emotion. “I’m not a Warrior of Sunlight, I’m a deluded fool. I’m not a good man, I’m weak. You, the crestfallen, all the people who have mocked me and insulted me long before I became an Undead... you all were right about me, Oscar. I’m a sham, a parody of what a knight should be. Not anymore.”

Solaire began to pull his arm from Oscar.

“I can’t continue being this way. Lordran has no place for the weak and the incompetent. I will not let it best me; I won’t allow my weakness to blind me any longer! And if to do so I must forge my heart into something horrible, I’ll do it! I’ll do anything that helps me become the knight and man the worlds demands of me, the kind of man that is able to endure all the atrocities this cursed land throws at me without cowering in fear and crying for all the pain my incompetence causes to others!”

Oscar snapped out of his trance and held Solaire’s arm just a second before it slipped away from him.

“I must...” Solaire’s voice began to break. “I must do this, Oscar. If I don’t, then I might as well go Hollow now and die at your hands.”

“No, Solaire.” Oscar said. “None of what you said is accurate, even less it’s true. Killing this man in cold blood will not turn you into a true knight or a stronger man. It will change you into something you’ll hate and there will be no going back.”

He held Solaire’s hand.

“You are already a true knight and a strong man, Solaire. Do you think that being cruel, merciless, or indifferent are signs of someone who’s strong? In this world, to become such person is the easiest feat one can accomplish. To succumb to those dark thoughts requires no effort at all. I know this Solaire, I’ve been there before, and I can assure you that I found no strength in that place, only shame and regret.”

Oscar knelt next to Solaire. The coiled sword’s wound tried to make him complain and wince, but Oscar ignored the shots of pain it sent to his entire body.

“But to be kind, to be brave enough to show your emotions, to be selfless enough to help others, to have faith that hope may still exist in this bleak world... those are the qualities of a worthy knight and a true man.”

Oscar closed his eyes for a second.

_Chosen Undead._

“All qualities I myself wish I had.”

_If I did, maybe you would still be alive._

“Then why?” Solaire muttered, hiding his face from Oscar behind his other hand. “Why am I so weak? Why do I always fail, Oscar?”

Oscar took a moment to measure his words and thoughts. The first thing he felt tempted to say to Solaire was that he was wrong, that he hadn’t failed, but the rejected the idea promptly.

It would do no good to dismiss Solaire’s assertion as a mere mistaken perception he had of himself. Oscar knew better than to think there hadn’t been moments in the past when Solaire had been truly been weak or had failed, and to tell him that he hadn’t would only make him drift away from Oscar, probably forever.

Then, Oscar realized it was in that same line of through where his answer lied.

“You feel weak at this moment, but you aren’t weak, Solaire” Oscar finally said. “You have failed before, as have I and everyone else that has ever been born in this world, and you’ll fail again in the future, but that doesn’t make you a failure.”

His words were far from the ideal of comforting. Oscar wondered if they had earned him Solaire’s eternal hatred, but to his surprise, Solaire remained silent, the soft squeeze he gave to Oscar’s hand being the only proof that he was listening to him.

He reciprocated the gesture before continuing.

“You always kept moving forward, Solaire. You are here now, aren’t you? A weak man—” Oscar swallowed, almost finishing the sentence with his usual _like myself_ phrase once again.

_This is not about me._

“A weak man would have never done the same; and if right now you feel like you can’t go on anymore, as if everything you’ve done so far is meaningless, then allow me to help you get through this, Solaire. You didn’t abandon me when I needed help the most, and I won’t abandon you now. To me, this is what a real knight is supposed to be, and I owe this all to you, so please...don’t do this.”

Solaire looked at Oscar, his lips quivering with he trapped words he couldn’t say.

“Don’t let Lordran transform you into something you are not.”

Gradually, Solaire’s hand abandoned Oscar’s grasp.

This time, Oscar made no effort to take it back.

Solaire would not continue with the torture, he could tell by the look on his eyes.

Instead, Solaire stared at both his hands soaked with blood, both Oscar’s and the thief’s.

Horror twisted his features.

Oscar had only a second to look at them before Solaire covered his face with his hands and slammed his head to the floor. A series of screams, distorted by his unleashed grief and muffled by the flesh of his palms, made Solaire’s entire body shudder violently.

Oscar laid an arm around his shoulders and clutched Solaire to him, in a similar way Solaire had done when Oscar had finally allowed all the emotions festering inside him to run free.

"I'm here, Solaire." Oscar said. "I promise."

Above them, the clouds in Lordran's eternally grey sky kept moving, while the sun hidden behind them shone more brightly than ever.


	12. Overdue friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, what's up everyone? I really hope you're doing fine :)
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to ammyretsu, RiriRules4Ever and Mrs Littletall for the comments! So I think the Firelink Shrine arc of the story is close to being over and the next part will be the last... then again, this is my plan so far, but you all know I'm not exactly an author that has total control over my fics haha. I've been playing DS 1 again to get a better idea of how to develop the next chapters, and I think I'm starting to figure it out what I'm going to do, though I still need to polish some details.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

The thief would live.

Oscar never would have imagined he would be glad about it, but he was indeed relieved the scoundrel would not taint Solaire’s hands with any more of his blood. His lethal wounds had been healed by the Estus Oscar had fed to him, but the elixir had done little about the bruises spread all over his now deformed face.

The thief would have to die again to regain his former appearance; until then, he would be stuck with the new features Solaire had rearranged for him with his fists.

Oscar felt no sympathy for the man. What had happened to him was not a punishment, merely the consequence of his actions.

_And yet, it comes so easy for me to pity myself and play the victim._

There was too much self-awareness in the thought, too much truth for Oscar to dwell on it for long. Ashamed and eager to escape it, Oscar picked up the Estus Flask and put it away inside the bag hanging from his belt. Inside it, there was an identical recipient.

His fingers traced the second Estus Flask’s surface before they left the bag.

He knew not which flask had formerly belonged to him and which was the crestfallen’s.

_Not that it matters anymore._

The sullen warrior was not coming back. Oscar had not said a word regarding the subject, but he knew the crestfallen’s departure was permanent.

_Solaire._

Oscar needn’t ask him any details. He already had a clear idea of what had happened between them while they were gone from Firelink Shrine. 

_If only I had never arrived here, none of this—_

“No.” Oscar chided himself in an extremely low voice. “Not again.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had no time to allow himself to be taken by the currents of such thoughts again. The comfort they promised him, no matter how real it could appear, was fake and hollow.

Still, they were so very inviting and tempting, like a bowl of hot soup during a snowy day.

_This is all my fault._

Oscar turned around abruptly, wishing to turn his back on those looming ideas for good, but there was no real escape from the voice that continued to resonate within him.

“He’ll be alright. He's still unconscious, but he's not longer in danger.” Oscar said, so loudly that his distorted voice echoed across the ruins of the shrine. “You don’t have to worry anymore, Solaire.”

He smiled at his comrade. Oscar knew Solaire had heard him; he had practically screamed.

Solaire however, didn’t react at all. He kept staring at the bonfire, his arms limply resting on his crossed legs, with a semblance on his face so devoid of emotion that Oscar could have sworn the man in front of him was not a jolly sunlight knight, but the crestfallen warrior.

_No, not the crestfallen._

Oscar thought as he went to Solaire’s side and sat down next to him, as swiftly as his wound let him. Oscar had forced the bleeding to stop by warping his clean tunic around his belly as if it was a sash. The improvised bandaging had worked relatively well, and he was thankful a second cauterization hadn’t been necessary. Had Solaire not appeared, Oscar knew the thief would have succeeded in reopening the wound completely.

Oscar doubted he would be capable of carrying out the sealing process again without losing his mind to the burning agony, even less if he had to do the whole thing by himself.

Solaire was in no condition to help him anymore.

He had withdrawn deeply into himself as soon as his breakdown had ceased, far away from Oscar’s reach.

Oscar had hoped that Solaire would return to normal if he gave him time, but it had been in vain. By then, Solaire was so unresponsive that he didn’t even look at Oscar as he accommodated himself closer to him.

Oscar couldn’t tell if Solaire either didn’t notice his presence or didn’t care about it at all. He didn’t know which option worried and hurt him most.

He continued to look at him, the smile on his face slowly fading as Solaire remained too immersed in his own thoughts to give Oscar the slightest sign that he cared or was in need of his useless company, but he remained to his side regardless.

_He looks like me._

The realization caused Oscar’s eyes to drift away from Solaire, and he too found himself looking at the dancing flames of the bonfire.

His heartbeat hastened its pace.

His need to help Solaire, partially fueled by his wish to repay him all the kindness he had shown him, transformed into a frantic urgency to save him. Oscar needed to act, he had to do something to stop Solaire from succumbing to the doubts and fears brewing inside him, just like it had happened to him.

If Oscar did nothing, Solaire would be gone forever, and all he would leave behind was an empty husk.

Oscar looked at Solaire again, and he saw what he had been too scared to fully accept before.

Solaire was dangerously close to Hollowing, perhaps a lot more than Oscar had ever been.

_Don’t._

Oscar could understand it now, the desperation Solaire had felt when he had thought Oscar would go Hollow in his arms.

To Oscar, it felt no different than the grief that had drenched his entire being when he had witnessed the Chosen Undead’s demise at the hands of the Hollows.

The memory sent a rush of bile up his throat and twisted Oscar’s stomach into a painful knot that almost made him sick. He was only able to regain control of his body because of Solaire, even if the sunlight knight didn’t do or say anything.

His presence alone was enough to remind Oscar he had to remain strong. He owed much to Solaire, almost as much as he owed the Chosen Undead, and he would not get any closer to repaying his debt to neither of them by standing idly by, overwhelmed by disheartenment and a past he couldn’t change.

He may have failed in his task of defeating the thief, but Oscar couldn’t allow the same to happen with his obligation to save Solaire.

_I promised you I would, and I will._

Oscar tried to speak, but he didn’t know what to say, even less how to say it. He tried to use himself as a reference to figure out what could bring Solaire solace.

What had Oscar wished to hear the most during his prolonged state of uncertainty and melancholy?

He hadn’t longed for words of wisdom or harsh but good-intentioned pep talks.

_And yet..._

He had already done both with Solaire. Looking back, Oscar wondered what had driven him to speak with so much confidence just a while ago, as if his status as an elite knight still held any relevance.

He had meant everything he had said to Solaire, but he wasn’t so sure if he had ever had the right to speak to him in that manner.

_I don’t know better than you, Solaire. I didn’t want to put myself above you or make you feel as if you were foolish or weak, I just wanted you to stop. Just like I want you to stop right now, before you transform into a sulking shadow that sees no way out of his misery... before you become like me._

Oscar’s hand tried to approach Solaire, but there was too much shame weighing it down, and it went no farther than a few inches away from Oscar’s body. It didn’t even depart from the ash covered grass.

_Damn it._

Oscar cursed his incompetence. Was he so useless that he wasn’t even able to help the man that had aided him so many times before, without ever asking for something in return?

Any other person in Lordran would have killed Oscar the moment they laid their eyes upon his corrupted face. Even if the Hollowing hadn’t scarred his flesh and destroyed his voice, it wouldn’t have been shocking if they had gotten rid of him anyway and looted his corpse afterwards, just like the thief had tried to do.

And even if there was no malicious intent behind their actions, most people would have just left Oscar to his fate, unwilling to burden themselves with a problem that didn’t concern them.

_But you saved me._

There was as much disbelief as admiration in the thought. Oscar had felt the same way towards the Chosen Undead, but he had changed that pure sentiment into something awful, into a chimera of resentment and envy that had remained deeply rooted inside him, even after all that had happened afterwards.

This time, Oscar’s heart, finally free of those chains, allowed itself to feel for Solaire what he should have felt for the Chosen Undead since the beginning.

_I want to save you._

Oscar’s lips broke apart.

He said nothing.

_But I don’t know how._

He snapped his mouth shut, the clash and grinding of his teeth audible to his ears.

_I don’t want my words to break something inside you... not again. I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have. What should I do?_

Oscar forced his mind to look for an answer and to do it quickly. Solaire’s fate was in his hands, just like the Chosen Undead’s had been. Oscar would not make the same mistake again and treat it as if it were something he could dispose of without the smallest concern.

_I’ll do for you what I wasn’t strong enough to do for them._

Unconsciously, Oscar pressed his wound, pushing the damp cloth of his tunic as close as possible to his side.

He opened his mouth again, unsure of what he would say, but decided to say something.

Anything.

“Oscar.” Solaire said, softly turning his head towards him. His eyes had rings under them and were dry from staring at the bonfire’s flame for so long, but Oscar could still see in them the phantom of genuine worry and care. “Are you alright?”

To say Oscar was taken aback would be an understatement.

Not only Solaire had finally said something to him after having been silent for what felt like ages, he had done so only to ask Oscar about his well-being.

What Oscar had taken so long to do, what he had meant to do from the start but instead had pondered on endlessly, Solaire had accomplished in a matter of seconds.

His words were pure and genuine. It was not an elaborated speech or a fabricated smile. Only a simple question born naturally from his heart.

Oscar nodded silently in response, his stoic face not betraying the affliction tormenting him inside.

_Why are you asking me this? This is not about me, Solaire. It’s about you! Don’t make this about me. Don’t you dare._

“That’s good.” Solaire said in response, his voice devoid of any sort of tone or feeling. “It really is.”

With that, as suddenly as he had acknowledged Oscar’s existence, Solaire seemed to have forgotten about him just as instantly. He returned to his previous indifferent and uncaring state as if nothing had been spoken between them.

“I am fine, Solaire.” Oscar said in a hurry, putting everything else on his mind aside. He would not let Solaire escape him, not again. “Don’t worry about me. What about you? How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

Oscar noticed how overwhelming his cluttered questions sounded. They were nothing like Solaire’s; they lacked all sort of comfort when they came from his mouth, but he couldn’t stop.

Now that he had a grasp of Solaire, he was too afraid to let go of him again, no matter how slightly.

Solaire paid him no mind.

Rather than discouraging him, it made Oscar more determined to bring his friend back to reality.

“Do you want some Estus?” Oscar said, not waiting for an answer and promptly searching for a flask inside his bag. “I know, I can prepare you some of that Estus soup from earlier. Just tell me the ingredients and how it’s done, and I’ll have it ready in no time. How about that? I must confess I’m not much of a cook though... but it can’t be that hard, can it?”

Oscar’s enthusiasm shattered when his hand hesitated about which flask it should grab. The fear he would pick the crestfallen’s and give it to Solaire made Oscar regret having brought up the idea in the first place.

The memory of the crestfallen was painful in itself as well. Oscar did not miss the sullen man, but he regretted he had met a fate so cruel. There was no comfort or happiness to be found in his demise at Solaire’s hands, not even after all he had made Oscar go through.

His Hollowing and death were reminders looming over Oscar and Solaire of what Lordran had store for them, of how merciless that land was and how little it cared about their dreams or hopes.

The crestfallen’s ghost also played another role; he was an untouched and festering subject between Oscar and Solaire, one neither had any wish to talk about.

_Chosen Undead, speaking of you is too difficult for me, but when I talked about you and what happened at the Asylum... I felt relieved, as if I was finally bleeding a bad wound. It didn’t feel good, but it was good, if that makes any sense. Perhaps it would be the same with you, Solaire. I cannot be sure, but it could be a good place to start._

“Solaire, I’m—”

“Oscar.” Solaire’s interruption cut Oscar’s words short. Before Oscar had time to wonder if it had been a coincidence or a deliberate move on Solaire’s part, the sunlight knight continued. “Can I ask you something?”

It took a moment for Oscar to find his voice again. Though slightly frustrated with himself for having his opportunity to help Solaire denied again, he did not hesitate to continue along the line that had been placed before him.

“Of course you can.” Oscar nodded, speaking with all the kindness his destroyed voice could still convey. “Anything at all, Solaire.”

“And,” Solaire continued, “do you promise to tell me the truth no matter what?”

“Yes.” Oscar said, only realizing the weight such promise implied after he had agreed to it. He didn’t regret having tied himself to that vow, but the little time he had been granted to think about it left Oscar feeling lost and unprepared, as if he had been thrown into battle with the best intentions in his heart but armed only with a stick.

“Thank you.” With those two words, Solaire settled the matter. There was no going back. “Oscar, I know you’ve lost many of your memories, but... Back in Astora, do you remember anything at all about what the other elite knights said about me? I know they considered me a fool, but I need to know what exactly their thoughts were. I know it sounds foolish, but I need to know, Oscar.”

“Why do you—” Oscar bit his tongue. He had given Solaire his word and questioning his motives would bring nothing of benefit to neither of them. Swallowing the rest of his question, Oscar nodded in silence and complied. “Give me a moment.”

He closed his eyes and forced his broken memories back to the top of his mind. What little remained of them was too incomplete to make sense out of them, and the few that had remained untouched by the Hollowing were irrelevant to Solaire’s question.

Still, the nostalgia and longing they caused in Oscar was almost palpable, and had he not been so committed to fulfilling his promise to Solaire, he would have gladly spent more time exploring the fractured shards of his past.

After a difficult farewell to his happier memories, Oscar continued in his search for Solaire’s petition.

He found nothing.

His disappointment was nothing compared with his relief.

“I’m sorry.” Oscar said. “But I—"

He found it. There it was, hoping to be discovered by Oscar just at the end of his search. He analyzed it and felt tempted to break his promise.

Why the Hollowing had spared this memory? Was it another one of fate’s cruel jests against him?

“What is it?” Solaire asked, finally looking at Oscar. Life was starting to return to his dead eyes. “Do you remember anything?”

_No, I don’t. I’m sorry, Solaire._

“Yes.” Oscar didn’t have the courage to betray him. Solaire had already gone through a lot, the least he deserved was Oscar’s condescension and deceit, even if either was preferable to the truth. 

“Well?” Solaire said, and for his tone, Oscar could tell he was equally nervous to hear the answer as he was to reveal it. “What did they say, Oscar?”

“They... Solaire, why do you want to know this? What does it matter now?”

“Just answer me, Oscar.”

“But what’s the point of all this? What do you—”

“I need to know this. Please my friend, it would mean a lot to me. Be honest, that’s all I ask.”

“Solaire... Yes, they mocked you endlessly. To most of them, you were a recurring joke; they laughed at your mannerisms, at your gullibility. Some of them even planned schemes beforehand to make you fall for them, to make you believe you were being of help for the elite knights, when in reality, it was all a game for them, a chance to bet on whether you would fall for it or not.”

Oscar felt the shame as if all the deeds of his former comrades had been his responsibility. In a sense, he thought, he wasn’t wrong. He had no memory of ever trying to stop them, of ever scolding them for their childish behavior so unproper of elite knights.

_Why didn’t I do anything?_

Oscar wished Solaire would punch him as hard as he had done with the thief. It was the least he deserved after having been so aloof and indifferent.

“I... I see.” Solaire said, and Oscar could hear the edge of tears in his voice. “Why, Oscar? If you remember this, why didn’t you say so before? Why did you act as if you didn’t know me?”

“I wasn’t acting. I didn’t remember any of this, not until now. Solaire, I’m so sorry; if I could go back in time—"

“That doesn’t matter.” It was the first time Solaire spoke to Oscar with so much harshness. Then, without giving Oscar time to recover, he threw at him another question. “What about you, Oscar? What did you think of me back then, before the Undead curse fell upon you?”

“I never mocked you, Solaire. If I could go back in time and stop them all from being so cruel to you, I would. Trust me I would.”

“Answer the question, Oscar.”

“Nothing. You meant nothing to me, Solaire.” Oscar said impatiently. “What could I possibly think of you? I didn’t know you personally, and I didn’t care to. You had no relevance in my life or my purposes, your actions didn’t affect mine. Whether you lived or died, whether you were respected or mocked, it was all the same to me. I didn’t care about you Solaire, just like I didn’t really care at all about anyone or anything else that wasn’t my glorious fate.”

“How many, Oscar? How many knights in Astora thought I was a fool?”

“Solaire...”

“How many?”

“All of them, Solaire. Not only the elite knights.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

_But not me._

Oscar couldn’t bring himself to reaffirm his innocence. Even if he had been the only knight in Astora that hadn’t considered Solaire an idiot, he had never spoken out for him. He was no less guilty than the rest.

“So it’s true.” Solaire breathed out in what almost sounded like a chuckle. “I didn’t misunderstand or was wrong in my judgment. I was only a clown to them. Surely the commoners thought the same. It’s funny... I’ve always known this, but to have everything confirmed to me—”

He couldn’t finish. Oscar knew what would follow.

Solaire’s tears would betray him any second, and Oscar had to be ready to offer him as much comfort as possible, no matter how impossible it seemed for him after everything he had said.

But the scenario never happened. Instead, Solaire shifted his position and rested an arm on his knee.

“I can’t go back to Astora.” Solaire said, placing a hand on his chest, a bit above his heart, right where the dark sign was. “Even if I wasn’t an Undead, I would never go back. I could never return to a place where I never belonged. Still... after failing so miserably on my quest in this land, I can’t help to wonder why I ever thought Lordran would be any different than Astora. What made me think I would be any less incompetent as an Undead? If I couldn’t find my sun when I was alive, what chances do I have to find it now that I’m cursed?”

He rested his forehead against his forearm.

“What have I done?” Solaire said. “Did I come here to find my purpose... or was all just an excuse to escape from my reality? No wonder I make a fine Warrior of Sunlight, for I too forsook everything I had to run away, just like Gwyn’s firstborn did. I do envy him, you know? At least his actions were expunged from history, but mine will always live in the minds of those who mocked me. That’s my legacy. A fool’s legacy.”

He was about to say something else, but his voice failed him when Oscar put his hand above his.

The gesture had not only been Oscar’s way to show Solaire how much he understood him, it had also been a petition for him to stop.

“You’re not a fool, Solaire.” Oscar whispered; his voice perfectly audible in Firelink Shrine’s ominous silence.

“How can you say that? Have you not understood it yet, Oscar? I did not become an Undead out of mere chance, I became one by my own choice. I cursed myself, deluded by my hopes that Lordran would...” Solaire removed his hand away from Oscar's, as if he was unworthy of being near him. “Oh Oscar, how could I believe this journey would be an adventure filled with meaning? How many people see their lives destroyed by the accursed sign? And yet, I trivialized everything, as if their pain didn’t matter, as if being Undead could be considered a blessing! The crestfallen—”

Solaire raised his head as soon as the mention of the sullen warrior escaped his lips.

“He was right.” Solaire said, his face dry of tears. “Lordran did unmask the real me. I’m not a daring knight or a merciless killer, I’m just some idiot. A recurring joke. Maybe this confirmation was my sun all along.”

His hand returned to his chest. The painted sun wrinkled until it lost its form as Solaire squeezed his tunic with growing desperation.

“I’ve found it. My journey... it’s ended.”

“Solaire? What’s wrong? Solaire!”

“It’s over.”

“It isn’t! You are not a fool; your quest has only started!” Oscar held him by the shoulders and forced Solaire to look at him in the eyes. “Please, do not give up hope now. Do not become like me!”

“Once I dreamed of nothing else.” Solaire said, barely able to talk as his breathing became a compilation of shallow gasps. “To be like you... a brave and noble elite knight of Astora. I did not want the fame or the glory, I just wanted... to help people. I wanted to give them hope... I wanted to be someone they could count on, someone they could believe in... but in the end, I was only a joke to them.”

Solaire collapsed to the ground. Oscar couldn’t stop the fall, and he fell together with Solaire, his hands still firmly resting on his shoulders.

“Not to me.” Oscar continued, holding Solaire’s hands as they kept a tight grip on his chest. "You have never been a joke or a fool to me, Solaire. You’ll find your real sun, I promise! I’ll help you find it; I’ll make it my new and only purpose in this Undead life. I’ll be always by your side! I’ll set things right, I’ll make it up to you! Just please... do not—”

“Oscar.”

“Do not go Hollow.” Oscar said. “This is not your fate, Solaire.”

“I—" Solaire’s grip on his chest started to loosen. He tried to smile at Oscar, but just when the worst seemed to have passed, Solaire’s clenched his jaw and growled in pain, his hands twisting his tunic to the point of almost tearing it apart. “I can’t.... The Hollowing, I feel it. It’s dark... so dark.”

Oscar felt it too. He thought he would go Hollow together with Solaire.

“What have I done? I don’t want this.” Solaire whimpered, his voice full of regret and fear. “Oscar, I don’t want to go Hollow. I don’t want it to end like this... but I can’t stop it. I can’t.”

“You won’t go Hollow.”

There was no time for tears or Hollowing. Solaire was still there with him.

Hope was not lost for neither of them.

Clinging to that thought, Oscar left Solaire’s side, ignoring his pleas of not abandoning him. When he returned to him, Oscar moved Solaire’s hands off his chest.

“You are going to be alright.” The liquid humanity twitched gently on Oscar’s palm. The dark essence emitted a familiar aura, an energy Oscar had sensed before.

He knew where the thief had obtained it.

He knew to whom it had formerly belonged.

“Oscar.”

“I will never let you go Hollow, Solaire.” Oscar muttered as he placed the Humanity right on top of Solaire’s heart. The essence fused with his body and disappeared, now existing only as part of Solaire’s soul. “You can be sure of that. Now rest, my friend. And don’t worry about me, alright? I will be fine; right now, just focus on yourself.”

 _Be selfish for once in your life_.

Solaire tried to say something. Oscar shook his head and put a hand on top of Solaire’s eyes. He did so not only to help his friend sleep, but also to save him the image of his tears.

“Rest. You deserve this, Solaire.”

_And so much more._

* * *

“Oscar?” The fetid darkness that surrounded them was so absolute that it took a long moment for them to realize they were awake. “Where am I?”

“You woke up? And not only that, you’re even more Hollow than before.”

A voice that came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time made the fleshy ground underneath them tremble.

“Hmm... You are astonishing.”

The cave opened in the form of two sets of gigantic teeth. Before they had the chance to register what was happening around them, the wet ground, that revealed itself to be a tongue, pushed their body out to a new and deeper darkness.

They screamed, thinking they had been cursed to wander aimlessly forever in that abyss, but a slippery body warped itself around them and held them gently.

“Oh, little Hollow, do not be afraid. I am not your enemy.” The creature spoke, his face out of their sight.

His embrace became more forceful. To their surprise, they did not find it ungentle or uncomfortable. There was a warmth in the creature’s touch that they had never felt before.

_That's not true. I've felt it before once._

“I'm your mentor.” The orange eyes of the monstrous serpent met their own. “Your guardian.”

The Hollow relaxed their body.

They were safe. They had finally gone back where they belonged.

“Your elite knight.”

They had returned home.


	13. Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there guys! How's life treating you?  
> As always, thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to Mrs Littletall and RiriRules4ever for the comments! So I guess this chapter is the beggining of the next part of the story... sort of. I think it will work better as a prologue together with the next chapter than on its own. Btw I've already finished my latest playthrough of DS 1 and it really helped me organize my ideas for this fic. I think I'll play it again though... the game is just so much fun lol.
> 
> I hope you like the chapter :)

A set of armor, a shield, a sword, and a helmet.

A knight was not a complete unless he had all four. Together, they kept him alive and protected against all dangers, and in return, the knight was meant to take care of his equipment with extreme diligence.

Oscar could tell Solaire had fulfilled his part of the agreement masterfully. His round shield and sunlight sword were not enhanced with any sort of magic spell, and though the craftmanship behind them was decent and reliable, they were not outstanding pieces on their own.

Yet, despite their evident use, they were almost in perfect condition. The sun painted on the shield shone brightly on its polished surface, while the sunlight sword’s edges were sharp with regular and careful whetting.

Carefully, Oscar picked them up and examined them. He left Solaire’s helmet on the floor. His strength, thought mildly replenished, was still flickering. The weight of the sword and shield were already more than he could carry without dropping any of them by accident in the process. He would return for the helmet later.

The obvious respect and affection Solaire held for his weapons moved something inside Oscar, and it made him long for his own lost equipment. He was grateful his crest shield had survived all his ordeals, but he regretted his helmet and sword had not shared the same fortune.

If he concentrated, Oscar could feel the phantom of a memory, the same that would have informed him why they had been so precious to him in the past. Sadly, the memory was too destroyed by his incomplete Hollowing.

_My Hollowing._

His fingers traced the corrupted half of his face, the uneven surface of his wrinkled skin was more akin in texture to rotten wood than the flesh of a human being. So far, he had lacked the opportunity to look at his reflection, but the reactions his new appearance had gained him was all Oscar needed to confirm he was indeed repulsive, perhaps even scary to look at.

_I cannot go around with my face exposed. It would gain me too many unnecessary enemies, and they would not be without reason if they attacked me, not when I look like this. I too would react the same if I were in their place._

His destroyed voice only complicated things further.

For all Oscar knew, Undead marked with heavy signs of Hollowing, no matter how sane and sentient they still were, were as despised in Lordran as they were in the rest of the kingdoms.

There was a faint possibility they received a gentler treatment in a cursed land full of Undead, but Oscar kept his expectations low.

He chuckled humorlessly under his breath.

_Look at me, thinking about all this as if I were preparing to start a new journey. I don’t even know when I’m going to leave this place, if I ever do at all._

He was getting too ahead of himself.

He would have time to ponder on his appearance and his future later, but only after Solaire woke up. Until then, nothing else mattered.

Oscar wasted no more time and he hastily went to his friend’s side. Solaire, now sleeping in the spot by the tree previously occupied by Oscar, didn’t react at all when his sword and shield were carefully placed on his lap.

Oscar finished the gesture by placing Solaire’s hands on top of his equipment, the same way Solaire had done with him after retrieving his crest shield.

He doubted Solaire could feel it, but Oscar still hoped the familiar weight of his beloved sword and shield would bring comfort to his friend, even if he was lost in a deep sleep.

“It feels good, doesn’t it? To have your weapons near you.”

Oscar said, standing up and smiling at Solaire.

“I do remember having been very finicky about it. Lords, back when I wasn’t Undead, I could never find sleep unless I had the handle of my sword in one hand and my shield in the other. Some called me paranoid and fastidious, but... no, they were right. Well, what do you know, it seems I wasn’t what you would call popular among the elite knights. Now that I think about it, we weren’t the most likeable of people in Astora, were we? It’s a good thing you were never accepted among our ranks, Solaire.”

Oscar laughed, not realizing how awful it sounded until the words reached his ears.

_Lords, that had a much better ring to it in my imagination._

“I didn’t mean— Wait, let me rephrase it. It’s indeed awful you never managed to become an elite knight, Solaire.”

_That’s even worse._

“What I mean is... Elite knights are overrated anyway.” Oscar said, pointing at himself. “Don’t believe me? Just look at me... or better yet, don’t. My face used to earn me compliments, you know? But now, it’ll only give nightmares to others. Do you think it could prove useful in a battle against Hollows? If I ever get overwhelmed by a horde of them, I may as well try to charm them rather than fighting them.”

He laughed again.

Solaire never joined him.

If it weren’t by the gentle and constant raising of his chest, he could pass for a corpse. Even if he had been awake, Oscar doubted his pitiful attempts at being amusing would have earned him the lightest chuckle from Solaire.

Perhaps it was a good thing Solaire couldn’t listen to him. The second-hand embarrassment he would have felt for Oscar would make him wonder why he had helped a half-Hollowed idiot like him in the first place.

Oscar was sure of it.

“That’s not true.” Oscar said. He couldn’t continue to fake happiness, not when the image of Solaire was there to remind him of his reality. “You wouldn’t do that; it wouldn’t be like you at all. You’d probably laugh with me, if only not to make me feel like an awkward fool. Or maybe you’d find my stupid jokes genuinely funny and laugh at them with all your heart. That would be a lot like you, Solaire.”

Solaire’s head tilted slightly to the right, making Oscar believe he had heard him and that he would wake up.

Instead, Solaire remained completely lost in sleep.

“Or maybe you’d get mad at me for trying so hard to act friendly towards you. You’d probably think I was mocking you and you’d punch me in the face. It wouldn’t be like you, but I don’t care.”

Oscar raised his voice, hoping it would reach Solaire and bring him back.

“I couldn’t care less what your reaction would be. Whether you laughed with me, rolled your eyes in embarrassment, or told me to leave you alone for good... anything would be better than to see you like this.”

_In this state I put you in._

“Wake up, Solaire.” Oscar waited in a mournful moment that felt eternal. “Your journey cannot end like this.”

_I cannot carry on, not if you leave me too. Not like they did._

“If someone like me got better, then you can do it too. I know you can.” Oscar swallowed. “And when you do, let’s go find your sun together. Just like I promised.”

He couldn’t say a word more, no matter how much he wished to keep talking. He kept gazing at Solaire, but to look at his peaceful factions for too long was not easy for Oscar. He feared he would see traces of Hollowing spreading on Solaire’s face if he stared too carefully at it.

He knew Solaire was clean of the lethal curse, his soul purified and energized by fresh Humanity, but Oscar’s mind insisted on feeding him the worst of scenarios, no matter how improbable they could be.

What if the Humanity had failed?

What if Solaire’s despair was too great to be healed by any known means?

What if Solaire Hollowed and died while he slept and faded away, without ever giving Oscar the chance to talk to him again?

“No, that won’t happen.” Oscar said firmly, as if he was trying to convince Solaire and not himself. “You’re stronger than me. You’ll get through this; I know you will. Did you hear me, Solaire?”

Silence.

Oscar still nodded as if he had been granted an answer.

“Wait here, I’ll go get your helmet. I’ll be careful with it, don’t you worry.” Oscar didn’t stop talking, not even when the wound on his belly stung after he crouched down to pick Solaire’s beloved headpiece. He continued with his blabbering on his way back. “You see? I’m not as clumsy as I look. The Hollowing may have corrupted my body, but my reflexes are as sharp as ever. That didn’t sound pretentious, did—”

His foot stepped on something, perhaps a particularly slippery pebble or a puddle of blood, twisting his ankle and bringing Oscar down to the ground with a thunderous crash.

He only had time to protect Solaire’s helmet by holding it close to his chest. Oscar didn’t regret the action, but his body scolded him for prioritizing the helmet rather than his own well-being. In retaliation, it sent waves of burning pain to all his nerves and limbs, his belly wound being the most punished area.

It took a long moment full of hoarse gasps and drowned screams before the pain passed, and even then, the numbing aftermath was no less hard for Oscar to endure.

“I’m alright.” Oscar said as soon as he could get back to a kneeling position. He looked at Solaire and he gave him a reassuring smile. “I jinxed it, didn’t I? But not to worry, nothing happened to your helmet. “

_Not sure if I can say the same about my ankle and my wound though._

“I’ll be there in a moment.” Oscar said, wondering why he was trying so hard to act as if nothing had happened when Solaire hand'tseen or heard him. “I’ll just take a moment to catch my breath. I am fine, just a few scratches... nothing some Estus can’t heal.”

He put Solaire’s helmet on the floor took out a flask out from his bag. He slowly dragged himself closer to the bonfire.

_I don’t have the luxury to get injured. This is not a game. Solaire needs my protection._

Oscar continued to scold himself strictly as the bonfire’s flame transform into liquid elixir and filled the flask. Once it was full, Oscar drank it whole.

The healing effect soothed the swelling pain pulsating in his ankle and cooled the flaring beating of his wound.

Against his better judgement and fully aware it was unwise, Oscar reached his arm towards the bonfire’s flame again, decided to fill the flask for a second round.

He stopped however, when a tiny glittering caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He blinked once and scrubbed his eyes, thinking it had been his imagination, but when he looked at the origin of the sparkling again, he discovered that it was quite real.

Slowly, he picked up the object and brought it closer to his face.

A ring, probably the same that had caused his fall.

The same the thief had offered to him as proof of the honesty of his apology.

Oscar’s common sense urged him to throw the object far away from him. It was probably cursed or rigged with some sort of deathly spell, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Instead, he inspected the ring more carefully. He put the Estus flask back on the bag and held the accessory with both hands, using the fire’s glow to have a better view of it.

It was made of what appeared to be silver. The metal itself was lackluster, even rusty, but the three dark gems incrusted on it made up for all its flaws. They expelled a shine that Oscar would have considered beautiful if it weren’t for the morbid aura that came with it.

It emanated abundantly from all the three gems, especially from the one in the middle, which was also the biggest.

The aura itself was visible. It danced on top the middle jewel like a tiny grey flame.

It was not a pleasant sight, but it was hypnotizing.

Without knowing how or when, Oscar discarded his gloves and held the ring with his naked fingers. It was then he discovered his right hand was as corrupted as his face.

The entire right half of his body had Hollowed.

Did Solaire know?

There was no doubt about it. After all, he must have seen the true extent of Oscar’s corruption when he had cleaned and bandaged the wound on his belly.

He probably had said nothing about it in order to save Oscar from further mortification.

A gentle gesture, one Oscar would have deeply appreciated were he not so mesmerized by the ring.

A thought crossed his mind, long after his body had already made the choice.

_Try it on. It’s just a ring. It can’t hurt you._

Just as the ring was about to touch his Hollowed index finger, a voice reached Oscar.

“Link Gwyn’s fire...”

“Solaire?”

Oscar turned around, his mind forgetting about the ring and breaking its spell with little effort. Clumsily, he put it away inside his bag.

“Solaire, you’re awake!” Oscar couldn’t remember the last time he had felt a happiness so pure, so untouched by melancholy or bitterness. “I knew you would—”

Solaire’s eyes were still closed; from his mouth no word had come out.

The weight of Oscar’s disappointment was almost physical. His chest transformed into a heavy burden he could barely carry without collapsing to the floor.

“Link Gwyn’s fire... What? Where am I? What the hell happened?”

Instinctively, Oscar put on Solaire’s helmet.

He would soon need all the protection possible.

Then, his hand immediately jolted to the broken coiled sword hanging from his belt.

“It hurts... it hurts!”

He picked up his crest shield, lying not too far away from were he was, and sprung back to his feet with an already prepared defensive stance. Without thinking twice, Oscar put himself between Solaire and the awakening thief.

All the pain emanating from his wounds was numbed by a shot of adrenaline born from one single desire: to protect Solaire from harm no matter what.

“My face... Why, Solaire?” The thief whimpered, caressing his features and becoming increasingly horrified at his new appearance. He shuddered in what appeared to be a pitiful crying fit, only to abruptly straighten his back as he continued to hide his face behind has hands.

In his current state, the thief would no be able to put up much of a fight.

A part of Oscar, the one which voice was always practical, urged Oscar to get rid of the thief and to continue killing him until he Hollowed if he happened to be reborn from the bonfire’s ashes.

Another voice, which tended to be sentimental, kept Oscar where he stood.

He couldn’t kill the thief.

Oscar had pleaded Solaire to spare his life.

What would Solaire think if he woke up and discovered Oscar had murdered the same man that had been so difficult for him to forgive?

It would make everything seem as if Oscar had only convinced Solaire to spare the thief so he could kill him himself.

Yet, what other choice did Oscar have?

The thief was in horrible shape, but Oscar’s condition was hardly any better.

If a new fight started between them, Oscar knew his chances of winning, while higher than before, were not very superior to the thief’s.

Besides, the thief was cunning, and his cruelty would be enhanced by his anger. His aggression and ferocity would make him a dangerous opponent, more so if he was eager to take revenge on Solaire.

Oscar wouldn’t allow it.

“How could you?” The thief said, looking at Oscar, his eyes projecting nothing but hurt. He breathed by his mouth; his nose too destroyed to be of any use anymore. “Why did you do this to me? What did I do? I did not deserve this... I did not.”

The disgust Oscar felt for the thief’s pathetic display flared up the dormant hatred he held for the man. He would have killed him right in that moment if it weren’t for the pity that sprouted from his heart at the same time.

There was something in the thief’s voice that made everything he said sound genuine, as if he was in the right and had been unjustly mistreated by Oscar and Solaire. Against his will, Oscar felt a rush of blood painting his face red with shame.

The thief must have felt the growing effect his words were having on Oscar, and he tried to get up and get closer to him, but his legs failed him.

“Curses!” His frustration changed his expression, but he quickly mellowed it before he looked at Oscar again. “Solaire, please help me. I know I made you angry. I know you think I’m not worthy of your help, not but you can’t leave me like this, in so much pain. I beg of you... give me some Estus so that my pain can stop. Help me, Solaire. If you do, I promise I’ll leave; you and your friend will never see me again. Just don’t abandon me now... or I’ll could go Hollow. Please don’t do this to me.”

His broken and bloodied lips transformed into a subtle smile as Oscar approached him.

“Thank you. You are a good man, Solaire.” The thief reached his hand towards Oscar. “I forgive you for what you did to me. I know Lordran can drive all of us to moments of insanity.... I too have fallen victim of my darkest instincts many times; but I never mean it. I can’t control them, they simply overcome me. Surely you understand, don’t you?”

“I do.”

The thief’s swollen eyes lost all their shine. The change was so abrupt it could have passed for comical in any other situation, but at that moment, Oscar had no time to find amusement in watching how the thief’s entire act came crashing down.

Before the thief could react, Oscar grabbed him by the wrist and twisted his arm behind this back. The thief squealed and struggled like a fish on dry land, eager to break free from Oscar’s weight on his back as the knight forced him to lay down with his mouth against the ground.

“But that’s neither your excuse nor just justification, thief. It’s only one of your many lies.”

“You devious prick!” The thief spat. “I should have known a half-Hollow like you would not be above playing such dirty tricks on me! What did you, Hollowy? Did you kill Solaire just so you could loot his equipment and trick me? Well, aren’t you a hypocrite. Hollows are all the same. Deceitful and hateful creatures, all of you. And stupid too... seriously, who would ever loot, even less wear, a helmet as ridiculous as that? Well, at the very least it keeps me from looking at your disgusting and rotten face.”

“Enough!” Oscar exclaimed, twisting the thief’s arm with enough strength to remind him of his situation. “I could kill you right now, and if you don’t keep quiet, I will.”

“You wouldn’t. An elite knight for Astora would never—”

“I’m not an elite knight of Astora. Not anymore.”

_Not after everything I’ve done._

“Please don’t do it.” The thief muttered with a sob. It would have tricked Oscar if he wasn’t already prepared to deflect his lies. “Spare me.”

“Cease with your tricks, you’re only wasting your breath. I won’t fall for them.”

“Please, Oscar.” The thief began to cry. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. You did not deserve it. Yes, I did try to steal your crest shield from you, but I never wished for things to turn out as they did. I know you think I’m nothing but a liar, but what I said is true. These temptations... they are stronger than me. I cannot win against them. I’m a weak and pathetic man. You said you understood me. Do you really, Oscar? Do you know what it is to be prey of your darkest thoughts?”

Regret overcame Oscar. He should have known better than to admit something so personal to an unscrupulous scoundrel, but he would have never imagined the thief would succeed in catching him in his treacherous claws.

It was almost a shame the thief was an enemy and not a friend. To have someone Oscar could talk to about the subject would be a great source of comfort.

But he couldn’t trust the theif, no matter how inviting his honeyed words were.

Oscar steeled his spirit and resisted the trick. It took a lot more effort than he had anticipated.

“What of the crestfallen warrior?” He asked, using the intimidating edge of his destroyed voice to his advantage. “Was he a victim of your darkest instincts too?”

“Ah, so you perceived his essence. A trait more proper of Hollows than the Undead... Of course, I should have known.” The thief stopped crying. He wiped his tears by rubbing his face against the grass before continuing. “Why should I answer you? No matter what I say, you won’t believe me. You already have your own conclusion and I cannot change it.”

The thief chuckled maliciously. Oscar made sure to get rid of his haughty pretentiousness by twisting his arm almost to the point of breaking it.

He only stopped when the thief began to scream and beg for mercy.

“I did nothing to him!” The thief cried, trying in vain to break free from Oscar’s grasp, but there was no escape from him. “He took his own life, I swear! He jumped before I had the chance to push him down! I barely had time to steal some Humanity from him... the bastard took the jump so suddenly that I almost fell together with him!”

It was not the answer Oscar expected to hear. All this time, he had thought the crestfallen had simply run away and Hollowed somewhere else, the same place where Solaire had later found him and killed him out of mercy, and that his corpse had been looted by the thief afterwards.

_He took his own life._

Now, the thief had taken that thought and shaped it into a monstrosity that Oscar no longer recognized, even less accepted.

“Liar.” Oscar hissed; his teeth fully exposed in a snarl behind the helmet. The thief’s arm started to crack, but the sound his bones made, together with the thief’s shrieks, fell on deaf ears. “He did not take his life... it was you! You killed him!”

“Stop, please! I’m telling the truth!” The thief said in desperation as his arm was at the edge of snaping from its joint. “Why would I lie to you, Oscar? I have no animosity towards you! You saved my life, you healed me... it was you, wasn’t it? And I’m so grateful to you for it. Haven’t I proved it to you already? I gifted you my only Humanity.... I gave you my ring!”

“Shut up! I’m sick of your lies and your repulsive attempts at distorting the nature of your actions! Do no misunderstand, thief. I did not prevent your death, I was saving Solaire. A man like him does not deserve to be tainted and transformed by a worthless rat such as you.”

“You’re right! I’m a rat, a spider, an animal!” The thief said as if he was confessing his sins to a vicar. “I’m an awful being... I do not deserve to be near you. Please Oscar, just let me go. I promise I will not get near you or Solaire ever again in my whole existence. Trusty Patches will disappear from your lives forever! Just please... do not hurt me anymore. I cannot stand pain. I just can’t.”

“You won’t. You’ll try to kill me the moment I free you. Once you get rid of me, you’ll go after Solaire. We may be Undead, but I will not allow you the satisfaction of taking our lives, especially not Solaire’s.”

The memory of his friend and how vulnerable he was to the thief’s potential attack reinforced Oscar’s determination.

The image of Solaire perishing at the scoundrel’s hands made Oscar’s heart sink.

He couldn’t allow it.

Never.

“I’m Undead too!” The thief shrieked. “What would you gain from killing me? I’d just be reborn from the bonfire’s ashes again, with my body intact and all my wounds healed. Would that really be a smart move for you or Solaire, Oscar?”

Oscar couldn’t deny there was sense in what the thief said. He had been so immersed in his urge to protect Solaire that he hadn’t given much thought to the consequences of getting rid of the thief. Still, he was far from believing the suggestion had been born out of honest concern for his or Solaire’s sake.

Though still unsure of what the thief was planning, Oscar eased his hold on him, enough to grant the man some comfort without giving him the opportunity to escape.

The thief sighed in relief. “You see? I don’t have any ill intentions against you! If you still don’t believe me, then try putting on the ring, Oscar. I swear that its effects are bound to erase all trace of resentment and doubt you have against me.”

“Maybe I will.” Oscar said, sensing the disappointment brewing inside the other man. “But not now. First I have to decide what I’m going to do with you.”

He intended his words to be menacing, but they were also the truth. The thief was no less trapped by Oscar than Oscar was by him.

“Are going to kill me?” The thief ventured.

“No, but neither can I let you go.”

“Then what? Are you going to stay on my back forever as if I was a turtle and you were my shell?”

“Yes, if I must.”

“You can’t be serious...”

“I am. Now be quiet, you voice is like poison to my ears.”

To his surprise, the thief complied, but not without first whimpering in frustration.

It was truly a fortune the thief had not decided to struggle. Oscar doubted he would have been able to stop his escape.

He could feel his own stamina dwindling. It was only a matter of time before the thief noticed.

Whatever Oscar chose to do with him, he knew he had to decide quickly.

He couldn’t ignore his desire to kill him, even more now that he knew the role the thief had played on the crestfallen warrior’s fate. Oscar thought of confronting the thief with his actions again, but he knew a man like him would never regret what he had done.

The thief would likely try to make his murdering of the crestfallen seem heroic and necessary, arguing that had the crestfallen not chosen to end his life, then he would have never had the chance to steal some Humanity from him.

And had the thief not done it, then Solaire’s Hollowing wouldn’t have been stopped.

_He doesn’t know. He cannot know what happened with Solaire and the Humanity... I cannot let him transform the crestfallen’s death into one of his deviant manipulations._

Regardless of what the crestfallen warrior had done, he didn’t deserve that treatment.

Nobody did.

His death was not something to be mocked, judged, or played with, not by Oscar or anyone else, especially not the by thief.

Oscar closed his eyes for a moment and dedicated a brief prayer to the sullen knight, hoping he was now at peace.

Deep down, Oscar couldn’t ignore the guilt he felt for his demise. He knew it was foolish and purposeless to try to place the blame in such situations, but the phantom of his responsibility engulfed him in its shadow.

He had broken the crestfallen’s warrior world and taken from him everything he had.

He had been responsible for the raven’s death.

He hadn’t been able to give the crestfallen any answers, not regarding the coiled sword, nor the verse of Undead prophecy Oscar had invented.

Or had he?

The memory of his failure helped Oscar remember that which his happiness for Solaire’s supposed awakening had almost made him forget.

The thief had said the verse too.

Oscar had heard him say it.

He remembered.

He knew.

“I’ll let you go.”

The thief raised his head from the grass. Oscar couldn’t see it, but he knew there was a satisfied and victorious smile painted on his lips.

Oscar hoped he enjoyed it.

It wouldn’t last for long.

“But first, you’ll answer my questions. If I suspect at any moment that you’re lying to me, I’ll give you a fate worse than death.”

The bluff may have failed had it not been by the almost demonic undertone of his destroyed voice. It was the first time Oscar felt glad the Hollowing had damaged it too.

“Do you understand?”

The thief gulped and nodded anxiously. “Y-yes.”

“For your own sake, I hope you do.”

The thief’s fear weakened his muscles. Oscar took advantage of it and kept his arm twisted against his back with one hand, while he held the coiled sword closely to the thief’s eyes.

He had always felt repulsed by torture, and he would have never expected to ever become a torturer himself.

Grateful that Solaire couldn’t witness his shameful actions, Oscar proceeded with his deed, feeling more like a monster than a man.

“Do you know of the Undead Prophecy?”

“Yes, yes!” The thief cried, clenching his swollen eyes closed and trying to back off from the sharp ends of the coiled sword. “I know it by heart! I’ll recite it out loud if you want me to, but please don’t pluck my eyes out!”

_You had no qualms about it when you tried to do the same to me, did you?_

Oscar bit his tongue. He would gain nothing by recriminating the thief for his hypocrisy.

“Then you know that there’s no verse in it that speaks of linking Gwyn’s fire, right?”

“You’re right! Oscar please, don’t hurt me.”

“Then why?” Oscar said, lowering his voice to its deepest tone possible. “Why did you say it? What did you mean by it?”

“What? I never—"”

Oscar replied by cutting the thief’s temple. It was a shallow cut, one that barely allowed any blood to come out; yet, the thief screamed as if Oscar had pierced the coiled sword deeply into his brain.

“I warned you. You’ve left me no choice.”

“No, wait! Wait!” The thief twitched as if Oscar had already made him go through the most horrible of tortures. “I don’t know what it means, but sometimes... sometimes I just hear it in my dreams! A voice chants it along with some other nonsense. Not many Undead hear it... and those who do end up going Hollow as soon as they listen to it. You are the first Undead I’ve met who remembers it... the only one besides me who didn’t lose his mind to the verse.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m telling you the truth! I’ve been Undead a long time, Oscar. Trust me when I tell you I know nothing more of that verse! Lordran is a twisted land where not even time and space remain constant... Even now, I understand so very little of how things work around here, but I’ve told you all I know! That’s the true, Oscar!”

Oscar kept the coiled sword against the thief’s face, allowing his fear to increase until it made him confess any information he tried to keep to himself.

He waited patiently, but the thief spoke nothing else than terrified blabbering.

After a while, Oscar decided it had been enough. The thief’s fear had surpassed the limit of honesty. By then, he was so scared of Oscar and what he could do to him, that he would make up any kind of story in order to save his life.

It was one of the many reasons Oscar had always despised torture. Much was lost to it but little was gained in the process. The tortured would always reach a point where he would say anything to make the pain and the stress stop.

Even if Oscar had been more versed in the tactics of extracting accurate information by those despicable means, he didn’t have he cruelty necessary to carry them out. His poor imitation of torture had already left his heart burdened with shame.

He was just as desperate as the thief for the whole thing to end.

“I believe you.”

The thief shuddered.

“Oscar, does that mean... you will let me go now?”

“Yes. I gave you my word.”

“Oh... Oh, Oscar! Thank you, thank you! My generous and kind elite knight, the best Astora and Lordran have ever seen! I’m not worthy of your mercy, but I accept it! I’ll keep my end of the bargain too. Never again shall we meet! You’re a true friend, Oscar—”

“Indeed, you will walk away from Firelink Shrine with your life.” Oscar moved the coiled sword away from the thief’s face. He stabbed him in the wrist with it, tearing and destroying tendons, bones and muscles alike. “But not unharmed.”

He let go of the thief and pulled out the coiled sword as harshly as he could. Oscar was back on his feet, his ears deafened by the thief’s unmeasured screams as he hugged his injured arm close to his chest and twitched on the floor like a slug on a salty surface.

It had been necessary.

Oscar couldn’t allow the thief to walk free without incapacitating him first. With a destroyed wrist, the thief had no opportunity to attempt any of his dirty tricks.

Before Oscar allowed himself to feel pity for the man, he forced him to stand up and pushed him towards the shrine’s stairs.

“Leave.” He said, pointing at the thief with the coiled sword wet with his blood. “Find a place to heal yourself, change your ways if you can, but never return to this place. Don’t ever go near Solaire again. I’ll know if you do, and I’ll make you regret it.”

The thief face’s, no less deformed than Oscar’s, changed into a defiant grimace that made Oscar fear he had been too generous with his mercy.

“Shut your hole, you dirty maggot. I’m sick of your bravado. You’re tired and weak... I’ve known it since the moment you immobilized me. The only reason I didn’t attack you was because you had advantage over me. Oh, how have the tables turned.”

The healthy hand of the thief, red with his blood, started to glow crimson with a magic unknown to Oscar.

Oscar raised his shield. He would not allow the man to reach Solaire, no matter how many times he and the thief had to kill each other. Even if he died a thousand times, Oscar would not go Hollow.

“Ungrateful bastard. You should have forgiven me... you should have accepted my gifts and let me go unscathed! But no, you had to hurt me again!” The thief smiled, putting his glowing hand next to his face. “So be it, if you’re not going to appreciate my apologies or my presents, then I’ll take them back! Let’s start with my Humanity, shall we? Wait... I cannot sense it in you. You didn’t use it? That’s odd, where else could it be? Unless... Oh, of course!”

The thief’s eyes fell on Solaire. Oscar put himself in front of him in a heartbeat.

_No, I won’t let you!_

“Poor sunny boy, condemned to death and to his Hollowing by the same man he so much helped and cared about.” The thief cackled. “Serves him right. That’s what he gets for being such an idiot! That’s what he gets for trusting a half—”

The thief’s head exploded into a shower of blood. Drops of it reached Oscar, spotting his chainmail and Solaire’s helmet almost entirely.

The inert body of the thief collapsed to the floor. The morning star responsible for his death stroke again, reducing his face into a gorier pulp that no longer resembled a human head.

Oscar could only watch in horror as the bearer of the spiked hammer attacked the lifeless and headless body a third time.

“Perish, foul thief.” The wielder of the morning star said after recovering his breath. “Along with your lies and wicked mischief.”

Perhaps it was only because of the shock that had taken over his body, but Oscar could swear that the man, a cleric judging by his clothes, had found pleasure and thrill in the murder.

Oscar had no time to make further judgment, and the eyes of the cleric found him before he could come to terms with what had happened in front of him.

“Oh, hello there. Was this rogue trying to trick you? Did you want to kill him yourself? Forgive me, I believe I robbed you of the satisfaction. I apologize, but I also ask for your understanding. This man and I had unfinished business. I saw my chance and I couldn’t help myself. Oh well, nothing of value was lost. Trust me, this man deserved a much worse end than the one I gave him.”

Oscar couldn’t speak. His tongue was glued to his dry palate.

“Where are my manners?” The cleric crossed an arm around his chest and made a slight reverence. “I’m Petrus of Thorolund. I’m here on a mission. I would have arrived here much sooner had it not been by the schemes of this scoundrel. What about you, knight? Are you on a mission as well? Could it be... of the Undead kind?”

The cleric took a step forward.

In response, Oscar took a step back.

“Ah, a shy one, and Undead indeed, judging by your smell. Your companion sleeping over there is the same, isn’t he? Don’t take it the bad way, knight. All Undead carry the same scent. Though I admit yours is... peculiar. Stronger, acrider. Almost like a Hollow’s.”

The cleric’s eyes travelled to Oscar’s, who barely had time to turn his face the other way. He had no way to know if the cleric had noticed the rotten skin from his eyelid through the helmet’s visor, or if he had seen his corrupted and ungloved hand.

“Well.” The cleric insisted. “Are you, knight?”

Oscar couldn’t answer, not without his voice betraying him.

Trapped by his own incomplete Hollowing, Oscar began to miss the thief.

Behind him, Solaire continued to sleep peacefully.


	14. The most fortunate Undead in Lordran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back guys! What's up? 
> 
> So, extra-long chapter this week. I think this is the longest chapter I've ever written. I hope it's not overwhelming, but I really felt it needed to be this long lol. Don't worry, I'll try to keep the next chapters a lot shorter :)
> 
> As always, thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to ammyretsu, RiriRules4Ever and Mrs Littletall for the comments! You are awesome, guys!
> 
> I hope you like this chapter! Constructive criticism is 100% welcome, so don't be shy to let me know :D

“Take off your helmet.”

The gentleness in Petrus’ voice was alluring.

Had Oscar not just witnessed the killing of the thief, he would have trusted the cleric blindly.

He would have believed the man of Thorolund had no traces of savagery or violence in him.

“What’s the matter? I gave you an order.” Petrus said, standing so close to Oscar that he could smell the thief’s blood splattered all over his clothes and morning star.

Oscar looked down, desperately trying to conceal his eyes from the cleric’s penetrating gaze. He did the same with the coiled sword in his hand. He hid it behind his back, tying the weapon to his belt as stealthily as he could.

He felt like a child trying to hide his latest mischief and failing miserably at it.

“Do it, knight. Or are you too Hollow to understand me? If that’s the case...”

The metal spikes of the Petrus’ mace touched Solaire’s helmet and forced Oscar’s head up. The cleric jerked his head at the same direction where the thief’s corpse laid, unrecognizable and destroyed.

“Then you’ll leave me no choice than to grant you the same fate of that scoundrel. Resent me not, it would be nothing personal. I’d just be fulfilling my duty as an Undead cleric. I may forgive the lives of other Undead now that the curse has fallen upon me as well... but to spare a Hollow would be an unforgivable sin. Oh, I cannot allow it. Allfather Lloyd forbid it!”

His features twisted on a contrite gesture, his eyes welling with tears at the sole thought of his potential offense.

The expression felt devoted and committed, but not natural. To Oscar, it looked like an act Petrus had practiced in solitude until he had mastered it. 

Honest or not, it didn’t matter. There was no escape from Petrus, not without Oscar sentencing himself to defeat.

If Oscar’s chances to defeat Patches had been minimal, his chances to defeat Petrus in battle were nonexistent. Unlike the thief, Petrus was not injured or exhausted, and he was surely equipped with the many tricks, miracles and artifacts clerics had developed to hinder the Undead since time immemorial.

To try to fight him would not be courageous or heroic, it would be suicidal.

Above all, Oscar couldn’t risk provoking Petrus’ anger and unleash his fury, not when Solaire could get involved in the mayhem.

At that moment, Oscar knew his only option was to obey Petrus. He needed to show the cleric enough clarity and intelligence to counter the inevitable impact his hollowed face would have on him.

After readying his spirit, Oscar nodded.

With his unhollowed hand, trembling and covered in sweat, he began to remove Solaire’s helmet from his head.

The cleric replied with what Oscar interpreted was a sign of trust and moved the spikes of his morning star away from him.

“You were sane from the start? Well, I’m glad.” Petrus said with a small smile on the corner of his mouth. “Why didn’t you say so before, knight? Can’t you talk or are you just—”

The cleric gasped and backed away from Oscar once his face was fully exposed. Oscar’s instincts acted against his will and made him lift his shield.

He couldn’t avoid the reaction.

The look of disdain Petrus directed at him was as full of hatred as it was of disgust.

“By the Lords.” Petrus raised his morning star in an offensive stance. “Your face... there’s no doubt. You’re Hollow.”

Oscar, immediately putting down his shield, shook his head. He wished to deny Petrus’ fears with his words, but he was scared his monstrous voice would sow more fear and distrust against him in the cleric’s heart.

Instead, aware he was playing a risky card that could cost him everything, but knowing he had no other choice, Oscar slowly knelt before Petrus and laid his crest shield right before his feet.

To his own shock, Oscar felt how his bruised pride took offense at his meek behavior.

He thought he had gotten rid of such pretentious perceptions about himself, and yet, there was his ego, scolding him for acting in a way so inappropriate for a knight.

_I’m doing this for Solaire. I’m protecting my friend._

The thought helped Oscar focus and muster the strength necessary to bow his head until his chin touched his chest.

_There’s no shame in it, only honor._

“This crest... You? An elite knight of Astora?” There was so much disbelief in Petrus’ voice that Oscar couldn’t help to feel humiliated by it. “Reduced to this?”

Oscar swallowed his pride again and nodded in affirmation.

Petrus scoffed. Oscar could see by his shadow that the cleric was slowly lowering the morning star.

“I must admit I expected better from one of Astora’s supposed best. What happened, knight? Did Lordran caught you off guard, or was it your birth which got you into the elites and not your skills?”

Oscar could feel his face burning with something that went beyond shame but couldn’t call itself anger. He remained silent, as he would have done even if his voice was still normal.

“Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. It seems that Thorolund is not the only place where blood and birth reign above everything else.” Petrus chuckled under his breath with so much bitterness that Oscar was sure he would kill him with more viciousness than the thief. “What a disappointment, but such is the way the world works, to my everlasting chagrin.”

He made a pause.

Unable to fill the silence it brought, Oscar pushed his chin closer to his chest until he could feel the soft vibrations of his crazed heartbeats.

“I should kill you right now. You’ve disgraced your homeland, and you are so infected by the Hollowing that you can barely call yourself Undead .” Petrus stated, stomping on the crest shield as if it was scrap.

One of Oscar’s hand readied itself to grab the coiled sword hanging from his belt. If a fight was inevitable, he would not run away from it.

He had a reason to persist, he had someone to protect.

“Then again, you distracted the thief long enough for me to kill him. And I supposed that you are as sane as a half-Hollow can be.”

Petrus kicked the crest shield out of his way and took a step closer to Oscar. He then put a finger under his chin and moved Oscar’s face up.

For a moment, more than a well-intentioned but zealous cleric, Oscar felt in the presence of a deranged executioner.

Petrus’ scowled before he let go of Oscar with a violent swing of his hand.

“Put your helmet back on. You’re a sore sight for my eyes.”

Oscar obeyed, with less humility than before, but without any signs of confrontation that could cause Petrus even the slightest offense.

“It’s not my duty or my responsibility to correct Astora’s mistakes, and I’m certainly not in the mood to kill a man in such deplorable state. I’ll let you keep your life, knight, for what little worth it still has. Consider it my way to express my gratitude towards you for the little service you offered me.”

A wave of relief dragged Oscar almost to edges of gratefulness. Had Petrus not reaffirmed the disgust Oscar caused him by pushing him out of his way with a violent wave of his arm that sent Oscar crashing to the ground, Oscar would have grabbed his hand and thanked him earnestly for his mercy.

Instead, Oscar had to bite his tongue to keep a drowned scream from escaping his lips. The pulsating pain that came after his rough landing paralyzed him for a while. As soon as he recovered, Oscar crawled as fast as possible towards his crest shield and picked it up.

Then, he crawled twice as quickly towards Solaire. Fortunately, his friend was still trapped in an interrupted and peaceful sleep, totally unharmed.

Oscar sighed, thankful that Solaire had remained unaffected by the new tension Petrus had brought with him to Firelink Shrine.

Oscar gave Solaire a reassuring pat on the shoulder before he sat right in front of him.

Using the shield as a barrier, Oscar remained right between Solaire and the bonfire.

On the bonfire’s opposite side, Petrus had found a comfortable spot to rest, and he too had sat down. He reached his hands closer to the fire and rubbed his palms to spread the soothing warmth.

“Oh, for the sake of Allfather Lloyd, there’s no need to be so defensive, knight of Astora.” Petrus said, so unthreatened by Oscar that he barely looked at him. “I believe I told you I would spare your life. I have no intention of harming you or your friend... though I must admit the idea is tempting. A Warrior of Sunlight, isn’t he? They’ve saved my life as many times as they have tried to end it. They are nothing but savages desperate to find an excuse to fight others and kill them. But what can you expect from the members of a covenant led by the most brutish and traitorous god to have ever existed? They know no better, these mindless beasts.”

Petrus laughed at his own taunts. He aimed a cruel glare at Solaire. Oscar moved, breaking all of Petrus’ visual contact on Solaire with his body and shield.

The cleric’s amused expression turned sour at Oscar’s interference, and he rolled his eyes before dedicating an uncaring shrug to Oscar.

“Ah, a taste of the famous and melodramatic comradery between Astorans. I’ve heard of it, but I didn’t expect to witness it here in Lordran. Does it make you feel less Hollow, knight?” Petrus inquired, returning his gaze to the bonfire. “Well, we all have our coping methods, I suppose. If you find solace in helping this idiot, who am I to judge? Each to their own, that’s what I’ve always said.”

Oscar was thankful Solaire’s helmet concealed his frown. Petrus, unaware of Oscar’s growing dislike towards him, kept trying to warm his hands. His movements, so tranquil a few moments ago, became frustrated and tense, as if the bonfire had offended him in the worst way possible.

“I cannot believe this.” Petrus hissed. “Has none of you even tried to kindle this bonfire? I understand the Undead neglect useless bonfires like the Asylum’s, but this one? Look at it, it’s little more than a dying flame! Disgusting and incompetent creatures, the lot of you!”

Oscar, almost forgetting his need to keep quiet, was close to asking Petrus of the effects of leaving a bonfire unattended for too long.

The weight of the coiled sword became more present on his waist.

Was the lack of kindling the reason the Hollows had managed to destroy the Asylum’s bonfire and break its coiled sword?

Had it really burned so weakly?

Was Firelink Shrine’s bonfire the same?

Knights like Oscar had only a basic perception of the nature of bonfires. Bonfires healed the Undead, and from its ashes, they were reborn after death. They needn’t know much more other than that.

On the other hand, clerics, especially those who hailed of Thorolund, were deeply versed on the subject, and they were private about it to the point of being secretive. The fact Petrus had spoken about the matter was already uncommon. Either he was more open minded that his fellow clerics, or he didn’t care at all.

Oscar couldn’t determine which option was true, but he regretted his missed opportunity to learn and understand more about what had happened at the Asylum.

_Chosen Undead._

“Or is it the firekeeper’s fault? Oh, just what we needed, another incompetent wench entrusted with a responsibility bigger than herself.” Petrus continued. “Why have you not punished her, knight? It is your duty to remind her of her rightful place and make her fulfill her role. I would do it myself, but it would not be proper of a cleric. She’s locked in the safety of her cave, but if you used your sword, I’m sure you could reach her and draw some dutifulness out of her.”

Petrus laughed under his breath, amused. He tried to pass it off as a cough, but he couldn’t trick Oscar.

“What? You’ve still got nothing to say? I guess you’re really a mute then. It looks like you and that woman downstairs have more in common than I thought. Just imagine the fun the two of you could have if those bars weren’t in the way. I’m sure that some fraternizing would help her relax and clear her mind so she could focus on her duty. I’m sure it would be soothing for you, too. Alas, things are not always how we want them to be.”

Oscar recoiled when Petrus smiled and winked at him as if they were a couple of friends sharing a secret. The vulgar gesture, together with the dreadful insinuations, finally transformed Oscar’s dislike for the cleric into utter disgust.

A need to protect the firekeeper sparked inside Oscar; it burned no less strongly than his need to keep Solaire safe.

Oscar’s entire body went stiff with the contained anger he couldn’t express, the tension of his rigid muscles causing an uncomfortable pressure on his belly wound. He flinched, a small grunt escaping his chest as he covered the injure with one hand.

Petrus noticed his reaction and took it as a cue to react the same way. He put a hand on his chest and gasped in shock. “Oh my, how awful that sounded. I meant absolutely nothing by it, knight. I hope my silly words did not bring lewd thoughts to your mind, though I would not be at fault if they did. A man’s imaginations are his responsibility, after all.”

Petrus laughed again. Oscar wished he was in full health so he could let the cleric know what he really thought of him.

Oscar hated his weakness with more fervor than ever before.

He hated he had to pretend to be a half-witted Hollow just to keep the cleric friendly and peaceful.

He hated he wouldn’t be able to keep Solaire or the firekeeper safe if Petrus were to try something.

He hated his incompetence and how well he had convinced himself he was unfit to be a true knight.

The damage he had done to himself with such thoughts was almost as incapacitating as the injuries in his body, perhaps even more.

His body would heal.

Time, some Estus and the bonfire, no matter how feebly its unkindled flame burned according to Petrus, would heal his injuries eventually, but they would do nothing with the scars Oscar had inflicted in his mind and heart.

_How do I undo everything I’ve done to myself? How can I repair everything I’ve destroyed?_

Gently, Oscar looked over his shoulder.

_Solaire, what am I supposed to do?_

“Oh, if only we could fully kindle this bonfire ourselves... such a shame the rite has long been lost in this cursed land.” Petrus sighed heavily. “Dear me, I’ve said too much. Forgive me, knight. I’m afraid my exhaustion has loosened my tongue. Then again, it’s not a big deal. It’s not as if you could talk and tell others, is it? It’s not as if you were pretending to be mute just to hide something from me... right, knight of Astora?”

A hole formed inside Oscar’s stomach. He turned his head and looked at Petrus, who was smirking at him almost with pity.

“Well? Can you?” Petrus insisted.

The crest shield in his arm was the only thing Oscar could cling to.

“You’re testing my patience. I do not like liars, knight. I’ll ask you again, can you talk or not?”

“Yes.”

Petrus’s smug face changed into a scowl of repulsion. For a moment, Oscar was sure the cleric would throw up at the mere sound of his voice.

“Repugnant. What kind of abomination are you?” Petrus said after three gagging fits too exaggerated to be natural, but also too well executed to not be insulting and degrading for Oscar. “I don’t know what sins you’ve committed, but they surely earned you the scorn of the gods. I don’t see any other reason why they would allow you to exist while you look and sound like this... the Undead curse is an awful thing indeed.”

Petrus wiped some drool from his chin before continuing.

“But I do appreciate your honesty. I knew I had heard a horrible sound when I arrived here. At first, I thought it was the growl of a demon. I admit I didn’t think it would be you. Your poor, miserable man. Perhaps sparing you was a mistake. Letting a creature like you alive could be a sin in itself... I could grant us both redemption for our errors. As a cleric, it would be an honor to assist you in your way to repentance, knight. Are you interested in listetning to my offer?”

“I do not need redemption.” Oscar replied, forgetting about the pretended respect he was supposed to show Petrus. “Not from a man like you.”

“A man like me? I take great offense at that unfounded accusation, knight. What have I done or said to make you have an opinion so lowly of me?”

Oscar was left speechless.

After all the horrible things he had said and implied, how could Petrus act as if his heart was pure and free of all sin? How could he feign an innocence so convincing that it almost made Oscar regret having accused him?

“You know the answer. You cannot make me forget all the things you’ve said.” Oscar said, resisting Petrus’ trick after remembering his words, one by one. “I may be Hollow of body, but not of mind.”

“Are you sure of that?” Petrus smiled as if he was a pious priest. “My friend, I’m afraid your Hollowing damaged your sanity more than you think. I do not recall ever saying anything inappropriate in your presence. I am cleric, for Allfather Lloyd's sake! I am a shepherd, not a sinner. To prove it to you, I’ll let you know my offer still stands.”

Oscar knew well Petrus would never take responsibility for his actions. It didn’t matter how much Oscar swore and insisted in what Petrus had said, Petrus would always blame it all on Oscar’s Hollowing and dismiss his accusations as the imaginings of a half-Hollow.

If Oscar wasn’t careful, if he allowed that game to go on for long, he feared Petrus’ silver-tongue would succeed in breaking him.

The only way out for Oscar was to comply and listen to Petrus’ offer and put an end to his scheme, before he had the chance to draw Oscar into an unending spiral of self-doubt.

“What do you want from me?”

“Splendid! I knew you’d come around, knight.” Petrus’ said with fake relief, as if redeeming Oscar had been the greatest accomplishment of his life as a cleric. “I know I should not be telling you this, but you deserve to know the truth. You see, my mission here is to aid a most gracious lady in her search for the rite of Kindling, which, like I’ve said, was lost in this land long ago. I’m afraid my fair lady and my fellow clerics have yet to arrive; needless to say the rite has not been recovered yet... but we could try to perform the kindling right here, in this bonfire. Sure, it would only be a pale imitation of the real ritual, but it could help the bonfire’s flame to burn stronger.”

Petrus pointed at the bonfire.

“If we succeed in our little experiment, the fire will heal our wounds twice as fast than it does now, and the Estus it provides will be thrice as effective! I’m ashamed to admit it, but my previous encounters with the thief left wounds in me that have not healed properly, and they never will, not with the feeble healing this puny unkindled flame emits right now. Your wounds would heal too... I can tell you are in great pain, knight. Help me kindle this bonfire; not only you would be redeeming yourself for your past sins, you’d also be granting me, the firekeeper and any other Undead who passes through Firelink Shrine the comfort we deserve.”

“What would you have me do?” Oscar replied dryly, feeling more interest in the offer than he was willing to show. He couldn’t care less about his or Petrus’ redemption, but if what the cleric said was true and there was a way to make the bonfire’s healing effect stronger, Oscar was willing to give it a try.

_Solaire._

He didn’t look at his friend, but all his thoughts were directed at him.

_It could heal you... it could help you wake up._

“Humanity.” Petrus declared. “Give it to me and I will feed it to the bonfire. If we are lucky, it will make it more powerful. Indeed, our chances of success are not optimal, not without the rite of kindling in our hands... but it could work, knight.”

“I have none.” Disappointment lowered Oscar’s voice to a whisper.

“That’s alright. I can extract it. It’s a spell similar to the one the thief tried to use before, but mine is pure, developed by generations of Thorolund clerics. It will cause no pain.”

“But I’m half Hollow. I don’t think there’s enough Humanity left in me to—”

“Obviously. That’s why I never intended to extract it from you, knight.” Petrus explained, unaware or uncaring that his words were like knives for Oscar.

Oscar’s interest in the kindling vanished that instant.

“No.” He muttered, his stomach twisting into a painful knot. He clung to his crest shield as he unconsciously stood up. “No, you can’t!”

“He would want it to be this way. He is, after all, a Warrior of Sunlight. Helping others in need is his duty.” Petrus said, back on his feet and walking towards Solaire, his morning star in one hand, the other one covered in a crimson aura. “And we are both in great need of help, aren’t we?”

“I won’t let you. Stop! Don’t come any closer!”

“Or what? You’ll kill me? We both know you are in no shape to fight, knight. Please, do not interfere. Your friend will die or go Hollow with honor. Are you so selfish you would take that away from him? What a nasty man you are. Besides, he looks healthy enough... I’m sure he can share some of his Humanity with us without Hollowing.”

“He almost Hollowed a while ago! If you take any of his Humanity from him... Please, don’t do this. He needs his Humanity; he needs to rest. He is a man, not an animal you can sacrifice for your experiments!”

“I’m not asking for your approval or your permission, knight.” Petrus stood right in front of Oscar. He put his morning star on Oscar’s shoulder, the spikes of the mace clinking against the metal plate. “Move. I won’t ask twice.”

Without hesitating, Oscar dropped his shield and grabbed Petrus’ crimson hand. Before the cleric had the chance to understand what was happening, Oscar pressed his hand flat on his chest, right above his heart.

He removed his helmet, hoping that exposing his face would give more credibility and sentiment to his petition.

“My Humanity.” Oscar said as Petrus stared at him in puzzlement and disgust. “Take it. Take all that’s left of it inside me; it’s yours. Kindle the bonfire with it... do whatever you want with it, but don’t hurt Solaire. Please.”

Petrus remained still, looking unsure of who was in control of the situation anymore.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He finally said, his crimson hand digging its nails on Oscar’s chainmail. “You said it yourself, knight. What amount of Humanity a half-Hollow like you—”

“Enough to kindle the bonfire.” Oscar spoke with conviction, though he knew the assertion was little more than a bluff. “I promise.”

“A nice sentiment. One that, sadly, is awfully unfounded.”

“It will work. My Humanity will make the bonfire stronger. It will heal your wounds. I’ll make sure of it. Take it, cleric. Take it in place of Solaire’s.”

“Why, knight?” Petrus eased his hold on Oscar. He could tell the cleric wanted to remove his hand from his body, but Oscar didn’t allow it. “Why are you sacrificing yourself for this man?”

Oscar couldn’t answer. His reasons were clear to him, but he couldn’t express them out loud. They were not something he could share, not with a man like Petrus, who would have no qualms to dismiss them as the stupid sentimentalisms of an Astoran. It would be like sharing his memories of the Chosen Undead with a pack of rowdy drunks.

Solaire and the Chosen Undead deserved better. Oscar wouldn’t let their actions to be mocked by the cruelty and ignorance of others.

“Just take it.” 

Petrus said nothing.

Oscar didn’t know what to make of his expression.

He liked to think he had understood, that Petrus' heart was not so cruel to deny him that last kindness.

“Astoran camaraderie.” Petrus said, the barbs of his words no less sharp than the spikes of his mace. “What a strange thing it is.”

* * *

All kingdoms and their people had a label, an expectation they were meant to fulfill.

Mages from Vinheim were studious hermits.

Knights from Catarina were adventurous and bold.

Maidens and knights from Carim were adamant and loyal to a fault.

Pyromancers from the Great Swamp were peculiar and erratic.

Clerics from Thorolund were the most devoted to their duty.

People from Astora, both commoners and knights alike, were noble and sentimental.

_Is this what motivates you, knight?_

Petrus couldn’t stop looking at the Hollowed man before him. He could feel the knight’s lingering Humanity twitching under his fingers, hiding desperately inside his chest as Petrus’ crimson hand threatened to pull it out.

For a half-Hollow, he had a decent amount of Humanity in him.

_Do you protect the Warrior of Sunlight because being stupidly selfless and self-sacrificing is what everyone expects from an Astoran? Even more from an elite knight?_

The knight’s commitment to the expectations the world had of him would have been admirable if they weren’t also so pathetic.

_What a pity, that you are still trapped by such ridiculous notions. We are Undead... nothing is expected from us anymore. We no longer have someone to please or an expectation to fulfill. We are nothing._

“Very well. I shall allow you this small kindness, knight.”

_We are free._

Petrus prepared himself to start the extraction process. It would not be a kind experience for the knight, but that wasn’t his problem.

“It is my duty as a high cleric of Thorolund.”

Petrus’ hand began to glow.

“Rest assured. I’ll dispose of your Hollow shell before it has the chance to cause any harm to me or your friend.”

_Ah yes, your dear fellow Astoran... I’m afraid he’ll have to perish too. It is not often I come across with an abundant source of Humanity like him. Apologies, knight, but Lordran is full of dangers. You may be eager to go Hollow, but not me. I plan to keep my sanity for a long time, and one can never have enough Humanity. I’ll make good use of it, while and your friend can wander in the infernal depths forever._

“Oscar?”

“Solaire?”

Without saying nothing to him, the knight departed from Petrus’ grasp just before the extraction of his Humanity could start. Petrus, taken aback by the new voice, couldn’t stop the knight from fleeing.

Instead, Petrus was forced to watch another display of Astoran sentimentalism.

Watching the knight kneel besides the Warrior of Sunlight and throw his arms around his neck made Petrus feel physically sick.

_Ridiculous. Are they knights or children?_

Still, there was a sincerity in their embrace that Petrus couldn’t ignore.

It was convincing.

Too convincing.

Petrus even dared to say that the affection they showed each other was real.

_Nonsense. All Astorans play the loyalty and camaraderie charade so well, without knowing that an excess of emotion and attachment is a sin in itself. What a childish land. No wonder that dark beast left it in ruins when it attacked._

Petrus, concealing his steps with a silence miracle, approached the distracted knights.

_Showing too much concern for others is overrated. Nothing good ever comes from it. It makes you... distracted, vulnerable. Before you know it, you perish along with the person you tried to protect. It’s a terrible flaw, especially in the presence of an enemy._

It was just as he had thought. They were both so busy crying on each other shoulders’ that neither noticed Petrus’ presence, even less the shadow his morning star casted upon them.

_The half-Hollow dies first. It’s nothing personal, I just can’t stand his existence anymore... he is truly repulsive._

Petrus would have ended their lives right at that moment and extracted all the Humanity from their corpses had the Warrior of Sunlight not sprung his eyes open and glared at him, as if he had sensed Petrus’ intentions despite his silence.

The rage contained in his Astoran eyes froze Petrus’ entire body, leaving him standing still like a statue. He had not expected an Astoran to be able to convey that level of intimidation only with his gaze.

It was a warning, a threat that clearly informed Petrus of the consequences he would face if he dared to injure the half-Hollow knight.

The Warrior of Sunlight would kill him, viciously and mercilessly.

Time and time again.

Each time would be worse than the last.

He would betray all expectations from an Astoran and become a blood knight with an unquenchable thirst for revenge.

It was not a bluff, Petrus knew it.

He had been a victim many times of the zeal and aggression that took over the Warriors of Sunlight once they engaged in battle. They transformed into ruthless brutes that showed no mercy, as if they became possessed by the spirit of an enraged god of war.

A fear like Petrus had seldom felt before sent a scream to his throat. He backed down, so overwhelmed by panic that his feet tripped, making him hit the ground with a slam of his back. His morning star landed dangerously close to his face.

The clanking echo of the weapon caught the half-Hollow knight’s attention. He turned around, the arms of the Warrior of Sunlight keeping him close to him in a protective manner.

The three men remained trapped in a rigid silence. The two Astorans looked at Petrus, one with confusion, the other with unyielding aggression.

_But... Astorans are not meant—_

Petrus stood up so quickly that some of his bones creaked. With little fanfare, and faking as much calmness as he could, he picked up his morning star and backed away farther from the knights.

“I believe we have interacted enough for a lifetime. I do not wish to intrude in your heartfelt reunion.” Petrus bowed his head. “It’s time for me to move to a more private location. Farewell, Astoran knights. May the flames guide your way.”

The half-Hollow knight tried to say something to him.

Petrus ignored him. He had no desire to look at his corrupted face a second longer, just like he had no wish to endure the threatening glare of the Warrior of Sunlight fixed on him.

He had to get out of there before the warrior decided to act on his warning.

His pace was not elegant, and he left the bonfire and the knights behind. Petrus only stopped running once he met a dead end in one of the shrine’s many corridors.

_Curses._

Sheltered by the safety of the stone walls, Petrus’ fear transformed into anger and frustration. He smashed his morning star against the wall, leaving a deep scar on the stone.

_All that Humanity... lost._

It was all the Warrior of Sunlight’s fault. Why couldn’t he have remained trapped in his corny display of sentiment like the half-Hollow? Why did he have to betray his Astoran nature and all of Petrus’ expectations?

_Are you like me, sunlight knight? Do you too wish to get rid of all your shackles while in this cursed land? What of you, knight? Why did you pretend to be so concerned about your friend?_

Slowly, Petrus regained his composure. Soon, he was left alone with only the memories of the Astoran knights to keep him company.

_Was your devotion an act... or was it real? Why would you act like this when no one cares about the nature of your actions anymore?_

He pondered on it for a moment.

Then, he spat to the ground.

“Astorans.” Petrus scoffed, resting his back against the wall while his morning star hung limply from his hand. “How irritating they are.”

* * *

“Here, drink.”

“I’m fine, Oscar.”

“I know, but you’ll feel better if you drink it. Come now, just one more sip. Don’t get picky now; Estus doesn’t taste bad at all.”

“Unless I transform it into soup.”

Solaire looked at Oscar. If he was expecting an answer, Oscar gave him none.

“Oh dear... did it really taste that bad?” Solaire asked with a mortified frown.

“I didn’t say anything.” Oscar shrugged.

“You didn’t try to deny it either.”

“Well, let’s just say it left me completely speechless, then.”

At first, Oscar thought he had been too cruel with his jest, but all his fears were silenced by Solaire’s chuckle.

He allowed himself to smile too. Being in the company of his friend, even after all that had happened and everything that remained unresolved, made Oscar feel as if everything made sense in the world.

He was thankful to fate for granting him this; for the moment of rest he was enjoying, for the soothing flame of the bonfire, for the peace that had followed Patches and Petrus departures.

Above all, he was thankful to fate for sparing Solaire’s life, for allowing him to wake up with his mind intact by the Hollowing. His body too had been spared from the curse, from what Oscar could tell.

That was good. Oscar could endure the looks of disgust his hollowed features earned him, but he doubted Solaire would be able to do the same.

He didn’t deserve that sort of treatment.

_My friend._

Oscar put down the Estus Flask and rested a hand on Solaire’s shoulder.

Solaire looked at him, with his characteristic smile on his lips.

_Thank you... for everything._

Enough with the thoughts, Oscar told himself.

He had never been good at voicing them, but he wanted Solaire to hear them. He wanted him to know how much he appreciated his presence and his kindness.

Oscar wanted to thank him with complete honesty for once, without him spoiling the moment with his bitterness or mean-spirited remarks.

He had just opened his mouth when he noticed Solaire’s smile shatter. The same change happened to Oscar a second after.

“Solaire, what’s wrong?” Oscar asked, each word leaving a bitter aftertaste in his tongue. All his happiness burned up inside him and transformed into ashes.

Reality had knocked at the door of their repose and shattered their illusion of peace. Oscar knew it would happen, but he had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon or so abrupt.

The familiar dread of an upcoming disaster was never easy to digest, no matter how many times Oscar had gone through it.

It was never easy to endure the cruelty of having something dear to him stripped from his hands.

“I’m sorry, Oscar.” Solaire muttered. He held Oscar’s hand, his nails leaving faint marks on his skin. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“What?” Oscar almost laughed at the statement, both out of disbelief and relief

He had thought Solaire had been about to Hollow again, assaulted suddenly by all the grief he still carried inside him.

But to hear him asking Oscar for his forgiveness?

It was ridiculous, blasphemous even.

There was only one explanation possible. Solaire was hallucinating. His mind could be free from the Hollowing, but it was still too bruised by exhaustion.

“Looks like someone’s feeling a bit delirious.” Oscar said jokingly to Solaire. “I know, let’s get you closer to the bonfire, it’ll do you good. Here, put your arm around my shoulders and—”

“Don’t ignore me, Oscar. Please.”

“I’m not.” Oscar said sternly but not without gentleness. “I just don’t have anything to forgive you for, Solaire.”

“I’m sorry for forcing you to answer my stupid questions.” Solaire continued, completely disregarding Oscar’s last statement. “I’m sorry you had to see me lose control... I’m sorry for almost going Hollow; above all, I’m sorry for making you waste that Humanity in me. It was yours, Oscar. You needed it much more than I did... you should have used it on yourself.”

“I needed it much more than you did? Is that your subtle way to tell me I’m ugly as sin, Solaire?”

“I failed you, Oscar. I was supposed to help you, but I only made things worse for you. How can I ever repay you for all I’ve done?”

“There’s nothing to repay.” Oscar said, allowing Solaire to continue holding his hand as he shifted into a sitting position. “Just like there’s nothing to forgive, Solaire. I did not waste that Humanity in you, I gifted it to you. And do you really think that I, of all people, would judge you for almost going Hollow? Or for losing control? Solaire, if anything, I understand why you—”

Did he?

Oscar wasn’t confident enough to finish the sentence, and he let the rest of the words died in his mouth.

Maybe he understood the reasons behind his own Hollowing and his moment of madness, but what made him think he knew anything about Solaire’s?

He knew the reasons that had driven his friend to the deep end of despair, but Solaire’s and Oscar’s motives were completely different.

Oscar had not lived a life full of rejection and mockery. He had never felt what it was like to be told he wasn’t good enough, that no matter how hard he tried to prove himself, he would never be at the same level than the others.

If his status as an elite knight was anything to go by, Oscar’s life had been the exact opposite.

“No, Solaire... I can’t say I fully understand the reasons behind your Hollowing. I can’t understand how your pain feels to you.” Oscar said, touching the hollowed part of his face with his free hand. The memory of Petrus’ disgusted look made Oscar remember how awful his appearance truly was.

Suddenly feeling too self-conscious, Oscar looked down, not wanting to repulse Solaire. “But I do understand what it is to feel hopeless. I understand what it’s like to lose all sense of purpose, as if nothing you do mattered anymore, as if all had been in vain. Solaire, I could never judge you for any of this... I know I don’t have the right to tell you this, not after all the time I spent pitying myself, but please don’t punish yourself for what happened anymore.”

Solaire remained quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know how you do it, Oscar.” Solaire said, inciting Oscar to look at him by softly squeezing his hand. Oscar complied, but kept the deformed half of his face as out of sight as possible. “I don’t understand how you can remain so strong after all you’ve gone through. You’ve suffered trials that would have driven me to absolute madness. Surely, I must sound like a child to you, complaining about my stupid problems and insecurities as if they—”

“They aren’t stupid at all, Solaire. And if I appear strong to you now, it’s not because of me. You, the Chosen Undead... it’s all thanks to you. Without the help you two offered me, I wouldn’t be here right now. I would have given up long ago, consumed by my despair and my envy. But you saved me, and I’m grateful to both of you. I really am.”

“Look at me, Oscar. You don’t have to hide your face from me.” Solaire pleaded, and Oscar couldn’t refuse him.

Then, Solaire continued.

“I’m grateful to you too, Oscar. You saved me. If you hadn’t been here for me, everything the crestfallen said to me would have—” He swallowed.

The pain the memory of the sullen man still caused to Solaire didn’t pass unnoticed to Oscar. He tried to put an end to the conversation, but Solaire talked before he had the chance.

“Oscar, can we carry on after all that’s happened?” Solaire let go of his hand and stared the bonfire, his back gently resting against the old tree. “If the start of our journeys almost drove us both to Hollowing, can we really continue? Are we strong enough, Oscar?”

“I don’t know, Solaire.” Oscar didn’t know what else to say, other than the truth.

“I see.” Solaire replied. Oscar could tell, despite his polite tone, that Solaire had expected a more reassuring answer.

“But I want to try. I don’t know what I can do or where I can go, but I can’t just stay here. I want to move on, even if I don’t know how.” Oscar grabbed the coiled sword from his belt and caressed its sharp ends with his gloved thumbs. “The Chosen... The Undead I freed at the Asylum taught me this. They knew not what their ultimate fate was, but they knew which fate they wanted to avoid. Maybe we could do the same as them, Solaire. Even if we don’t know where we can go from here, we can still move on and see how far we'll go.”

Solaire took a moment before he gave his reply. Oscar waited for him in silence, lost in the memories of his fallen friend.

“Yes. I’d like to try that.” Solaire’s voice was as warm as the bonfire’s flame. “The Chosen Undead was wise indeed, weren’t they?”

Oscar winced slightly at the sound of the Undead’s nickname coming from someone else’s voice other than his own.

At first, he felt displeased by it, but when he looked at Solaire and saw him smiling at him, the feeling changed.

It was soothing.

“They were kind of a dolt, and they had this strange habit of collecting rubbish and pebbles.” Oscar said fondly. “But yes... they were wise, in their own peculiar way.”

“I bet they were a good person. I wish I could have met them.”

“They would have liked to meet you too. You two would have gotten along well."

"Oh, really? Is it because we are both a couple of dolts?"

"Wait, I didn't say that!"

"Relax, Oscar. I'm just kidding... though juding by your reaction, I know you thought about it. You're cruel, Oscar."

"Alright, now you're just being overdramatic."

"What can I say? The consequences of being Astoran."

They laughed together. The peace Oscar had thought lost returned to them again.

"Let's move on, Oscar. Once we are fully healed, let's leave this place together." Solaire said. "What do you say? Can I accompany you, Oscar? Don't worry, I do not wish to impose. If you want to continue your journey on your own, I would understand. You don't have to—"

"Of course you can, Solaire. Only that you would not be accompanying me; I'll be the one accompanying you." Oscar replied. For a moment, he swore his voice, despite being a dreadful thing, sounded like its old self. "I did promise I would help you find your sun, remember?"

Something in Solaire’s expression wavered. It lasted only for a second, but Oscar saw it. He had no time to ponder about it however, for Solaire quickly quieted his doubts with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Oscar.”

Neither said anything more, but the silence that followed was not uncomfortable or awkward at all.

_Chosen Undead... thank you for giving me this._

Oscar thought with a smile as he too rested his back against the tree. The wound on his belly, for once, caused him no pain.

_Thank you for saving my life._

* * *

"Oi... well, that was a disaster."

In another time, in another place, Patches rose from the bonfire's ashes.

He strected his body, which was again in perfect condition.

"It seems I failed in my mission." He said, looking at his empty hands, so devoid of an Astoran crest shield. "She is not going to like this."

He shurgged before he started walking.

"Not at all. Oh well, at least I had fun! Until that cleric ruined it. It's always the damned clerics, ain't it?"

He laughed.

Then, he started to whistle without a care in the world, completely unconcerned about what awaited for him at his destination.


	15. Stones to remember you by

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Are you all doing alright? 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading/leaving kudos and to ammyretsu, Mrs Littletall and inedible for the amazing comments! They really make my day :D
> 
> I hope you like the chapter!

_“Why do you remain here?”_

_He gave no answer._

_“Are you afraid?”_

_He held the white soapstone in his hand as if it was a charm._

_“You’ve come farther than any Undead ever has.”_

_He found no comfort in the assertion._

_“Why do you hesitate now?”_

_He couldn’t reply._

_“What is it you fear?”_

_He wasn’t sure of the answer himself._

_“Chosen Undead?”_

_He had never gotten used to the title._

_“Can you hear me?”_

_He hadn’t forgotten about its rightful bearer._

_“Chosen Undead?”_

* * *

“Oscar?”

“Yes, Solaire?”

“Do you think that... well, it’s something a bit silly, to be honest.”

Oscar finished putting on his freshly dried tunic. He sighed in disappointment at how tattered and unkept it still looked, despite having rinsed it thrice. Regardless of his best efforts, water alone wasn’t enough to get rid of the blood. It had turned the formerly blue silk of his tunic into an ugly reddish color that gave it the appearance of being always dirty.

_This is as good as it gets._

Oscar thought, smoothing the tunic against his chainmail with his hands as much as possible.

_It’s not the proper look of an elite knight. Then again, I’m not one anymore._

“Oscar?”

“What? Oh, yes. What were you saying, Solaire?” Oscar smiled at his friend. Unlike him, Solaire still had the look of a capable and trust-worthy knight. His tunic, sword, helmet, armor and shield were clean and almost in optimal condition.

Compared to him, Oscar felt like a vagabond.

His blood had not only destroyed his tunic, it had also rusted a large portion of his chainmail skirt and the metal plates on his legs. His crest shield’s surface was uneven with multiple tiny dents, and his trusted sword was a broken, scorched and coiled piece of metal that, while mystical in nature and useful as a dagger, would have little to no value in battles the required a more offensive strategy.

Though versed in the use of multiple weapons, Oscar would have felt more comfortable wielding a straight sword.

He feared the inevitable diminishment his poor equipment would have in his performance during battle, and the consequences it could bring upon himself and Solaire.

The least he wanted was to be a burden that could not offer any real help or support to Soilare.

Even worse, he feared Solaire would endanger his life in order to protect his.

Finding better equipment stopped being a shallow need and became a priority.

“Oscar, would you...” Solaire continued almost with childish meekness, as if he was scared Oscar would answer with mockery or violence.

It shocked him that Solaire could consider him capable of either, but he understood where his caution steamed from.

_It wouldn’t be the first time an elite knight treated you that way, would it?_

It was still difficult for Oscar to accept he had once been so indifferent, and he could only wonder how many mistreatments he had allowed his fellow elite knights to get away with.

“No, forget it. It's nothing.” Solaire said with a chuckle after a brief pondering.

“You can tell me, Solaire. There’s no need for you to—”

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Solaire was by his side in an instant. Though his face was now concealed behind his helmet, Oscar swore he still could see Solaire’s beaming smile.

Oscar came close to rejecting Solaire’s help, but he didn’t find it in his heart to do so, not when the offer of help was also an obvious excuse to digress from the previous subject. If Solaire had changed his mind and he no longer wanted to ask him the question, Oscar wouldn’t insist on the matter.

_If it is something of importance, he’ll ask me again later. If he doesn’t, then it was never relevant in the first place... though perhaps—_

“Spread your arms a little.”

Solaire’s voice snapped Oscar out of his thoughts. After a soft sigh, he complied.

Solaire picked up Oscar’s belts and bags and gently buckled them around his waist. He did so carefully, paying special mind into not putting much pressure on his wound.

The attention was welcomed by Oscar, though not necessary. Without the constant and unyielding harsh treatment of the crestfallen warrior and the thief, the wound had finally been allowed to heal. Oscar could still feel it, but now more as a hardened patch on his skin rather than a source of pain.

“There you go! Now you look like a true elite knight of Astora.”

“I don’t know whether to feel flattered by your kindness or offended by your sarcasm.”

“I mean it, Oscar. Besides, it’s not the equipment which makes a man; a true knight could wear nothing but his undergarments and still impose the uttermost respect.”

“Is that so? Well, then I guess you’ll have no problem in lending me your clothes so I can be properly dressed, while you go running all around Lordran imposing respect with your sunlight nakedness.”

Oscar laughed under his breath, expecting Solaire to join him.

Instead, Solaire took off his helmet and stared at Oscar with a dead serious look in his eyes.

“Do you think my clothes would fit you?” Solaire asked. “I think they could be a bit big for you. Maybe if we leave them drying under the sun for a while, they could shrink. I'm not sure the chainmail would, though..."

“It was a joke, Solaire.” Oscar hurriedly said before Solaire could start with the process he had so stupidly suggested. “I’m fine, honestly. I’m sure I’ll find some better equipment along the way. We could even come across a blacksmith, if we are lucky. Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“Oscar, if you really need them—”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, completely.” Oscar said. “Absolutely.”

“If you say so... at least let me lend you this.” Before Oscar could stop him, Solaire placed his helmet on his head. “Heaumes take a bit to get used to, but they offer good protection. Not to brag, but this is a fine helmet, it has saved my life countless of times. I’m sure it’ll prove useful to you too.”

“Solaire, it was only a jest.” Oscar said, trying to take the helmet off. “I can take care of myself; you don’t have to worry so much.”

However, Solaire shook his head and put a hand on top the helmet to keep Oscar from removing it.

“I am not underestimating your skills, Oscar, but I want you to wear it. Many dangers await us, and I want you to be well protected. Keep it on, at least until we find more proper equipment for you, alright? Besides, it will also keep you safe from other Undead too. I don’t want anyone to harm you just because of your Hollowing.”

Oscar couldn’t deny the pertinence in Solaire’s reasoning, but he still couldn’t accept the helmet, not when it meant Solaire would be exposed to danger.

As if reading his thoughts, Solaire have him a reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“Hey now, I may have never made it into the elite knights, but I too got a few tricks under my sleeve. I won’t go down so easily, I promise.”

“Are you sure of this, Solaire?”

“Indeed I am.”

“Alright. Thank you.” Oscar said, not half as convinced as he tried to appear, but also fully aware that trying to convince Solaire of the opposite would only lead to an unnecessary argument between them.

It was the least he wanted, especially now that he and Solaire were finally ready to leave Firelink Shrine. “I wasn’t trying to underestimate you either. I know well how skilled the Warriors of Sunlight are, especially when it comes to casting miracles.”

“Of course.” Solaire said. For a moment, Oscar noticed a melancholic echo in his words, and he wondered if he had said something out of place.

Despite his optimism and enthusiasm, there was something troubling Solaire. Oscar could see it, but not clearly enough to know whether it was real or just a misinterpretation of his pessimistic mind.

“Let’s get going then.” Soilare said, giving Oscar a soft squeeze in the shoulder before retreating his hand. “Are you all set, Oscar? You’re not forgetting anything? Sword, shield?”

“I’m not so Hollow as to forget about the absolute basics, Solaire.”

“It never hurts to verify. Estus Flask?”

“Of course.” Oscar replied, taking out an Estus flask from his bag. “Yours?”

“I’m afraid I shattered mine.” Solaire said, his hand traveling to the bag on his belt. He took out a crumbled handkerchief from it and carefully unfolded it before Oscar.

“I managed to salvage most of the shards, though. It’s alright, I’m sure we’ll find someone who will be able to fix it! I’ll just have to be extra careful until then.” He put away the broken remnants of his shattered flask back into his bag. “Worry not, we Warriors of Sunlight relish this sort of challenges! It’s a chance for us to hone our skills and test our courage, as if this was a test sent from the Lord of Sunlight himself. I have my healing miracles too, so all is well.”

“Here, take it.”

“What?”

Oscar answered by grabbing Solaire’s wrist and putting the flask on his hand.

Just as he had done at Northern Asylum.

The reminiscence painted a soft smile in his lips.

The Chosen Undead.

They too had hesitated to take his flask at first.

“It’s yours, Solaire.” Oscar said, closing Solaire’s fingers around the flask. “Try to be more careful this time, alright?”

“No. I won’t accept it, Oscar. I can’t endanger you just because of my clumsiness.”

“I knew you’d say that.” Oscar said. He then took out the spare flask from his bag. “You take mine, Solaire. I’ll keep this one.”

“The crestfallen’s.” Solaire looked at the recipient with an expression that touched a string in Oscar’s heart.

“Yes.” Guilt echoed inside Oscar because of the lie he was so casually telling.

During the time he and Solaire had spent healing their spirits and wounds, Oscar had tried to difference both flasks and determine which had been originally his.

It had been in vain; but if telling Solaire that he was sure the flask he was giving him was his, if Oscar could pretend he had no doubts about it, if that little lie would ease Solaire’s burdens and make him accept the flask, then yes.

The flask that was now Solaire’s had never been the crestfallen’s.

It had always belonged to Oscar.

He was sure of it.

“I killed him.”

The confession lingered between them for a moment before the wind blew it away.

_I know, Solaire._

Oscar kept the thought exclusively on his mind.

“I went after him as soon as I woke up. Do you remember, Oscar? It was just after our argument.” Solaire said, slightly embarrassed at the mention of the incident, as if it had been his responsibility.

Oscar remembered it clearly. It had been at that moment he had thought Solaire had left the shrine for good. If he had, Oscar wouldn’t have blamed him at all, not after all the awful things he had said to him.

Oscar tried to tell Solaire none of it had been his fault, but Solaire gave no pause to his speech.

“I wanted to bring him back. I wanted to forgive him, to help him. I wanted to prove that I was a true Warrior of Sunlight, but I failed.”

Solaire looked at the spot near the bonfire the crestfallen had favored. Oscar did the same.

“Sometimes I feel I didn’t try hard enough, but also something tells me there was nothing I could have done to save him... and I’m not sure what to believe anymore. What if I had gone sooner to him? What if I had tried to stop him before he left? What if I had never gone after him in the first place? He’d be still alive as a Hollow, wouldn’t he? He seemed to have been infatuated with the idea of Hollowing... it was his greatest wish and I took it from him, all because of my meddling. He never wanted or needed or my help, but I did so anyway, and I ruined it. I ruined everything for him.”

“Enough.” Oscar said. It came stricter than he had intended, more like an order from a captain to his troops than a suggestion to a friend. Oscar regretted his severity, but a part of him knew it had been necessary.

He stood next to Solaire and a put a hand on his back, and with a mellower tone, he continued. “Stop tormenting yourself over this, Solaire. You are not to blame for what happened to him, do you understand? You didn’t fail him. What happened to the crestfallen is horrible, but it’s not your fault. It could never be your fault.”

Solaire closed his eyes and nodded slightly.

Oscar was thankful for the privacy Solaire’s helmet granted him. He feared the shame in his face would otherwise betray the information he was keeping from Solaire about the true nature of the crestfalllen’s fate.

Nothing of good would be gained if he told Solaire of the thief’s confession. Oscar wasn’t sure himself of what to believe, but he knew that whether the crestfallen had decided to take his own life or the thief had ended it, it had nothing to do with Solaire.

If they were to place the blame, Oscar felt he was the one who should be held responsible. He had changed things in Firelink Shrine, just as he had done at the Asylum. In both occasions, there had been dire consequences, both for him and other people.

_That’s why I must make amends. I must live my life for all of them... I must repent for all I’ve caused._

“It’s not your fault either, Oscar.”

Oscar’s body and heart went numb. He retreated his hand from Solaire and backed away from him.

The only thing that outmatched his surprise was his agitation.

Why had Solaire said that?

Had he read his mind?

Was that one of the many skills proper of the Warriors of Sunlight?

Oscar realized he didn’t care to find an answer as much as he wished for the words to have never been said.

Solaire, either ignorant or relentless, looked at Oscar, his blue Astoran eyes fixed on him.

“What happened to the Chosen Undead at the Asylum. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was, Solaire.” Oscar said in a desperate attempt to counter his festering guilt. “It’s not the same as this.”

“That may be, but it changes nothing. I truly believe their death was not your fault.”

“Why? Why are you telling me this now?” Oscar no longer cared about regulating the tone of his voice.

He had thought the wounds in his heart had finally started to heal, but it had taken only those thoughtless words from Solaire to rip them open anew.

Had they healed at all, or had Oscar only deluded himself?

He was not sure of the truth anymore.

“Do you like senseless conflict, Solaire? Does it amuse you?”

“You know well that’s not the case, Oscar.” Solaire said in a rush. He at first had looked concerned about Oscar’s reaction, but now he was no less incensed than Oscar. “I just wanted you to know that I‘ve never thought you were to blame for—”

“It’s not about what you think, Solaire. It’s about what I did to the Undead and all the damage I must make up for!” Oscar exclaimed. “You killed the crestfallen because he had gone Hollow. I tried to kill the Undead while they were pretending to be Hollow. I saw right through their act, but instead of stopping them, I played along. I wanted them to die, I wanted my fate back; and when I did stop, it was too late. Had I stopped sooner, had I not been so blinded by my stupid ambitions, they would still be alive, Solaire. Perhaps the two of us could have made it out of the Asylum... there was no reason for them to die.”

Oscar removed Solaire’s helmet and let it drop to the ground. He didn’t do so out of spite. The seclusion of the helmet had merely become too overwhelming.

“If I had helped the Undead rather than fighting them, the raven wouldn’t have gotten mortally wounded. It would have carried us both away from the Asylum. The Undead would be with us now; the bird would still be alive, and it would continue to bring more Undead from the Asylum, and the crestfallen would still have his reason to live... but it’s all gone. All because of me.”

Oscar could barely stand on his feet. He didn’t allow any sign of weakness to show on his body. The confession had been made, and now he had to face the consequences of it with the same courage.

Otherwise, it all would have been a sham, a pathetic attempt to make Solaire pity him.

“Is that the reason why you think I’m free of all guilt?” Solaire asked Oscar. Despite being prepared for a severe reprisal, Solaire’s harshness took him off guard. “Because you think that all that has gone wrong here is because of you? As if no one else’s actions mattered except your own?”

“You are one to talk, Solaire. As if you were any different.”

“I know I’m not! I know too well what is to carry such burden, how it is to feel that the fate of the world rests on your shoulders. I too am self-important and selfishly think everyone’s well-being depends on me! I’m condescending, just a foolishly sentimental Astoran, but when you tell me that I am wrong, that not everything that happens is my fault... I can see how vain I am, Oscar. It also gives me hope that, maybe, you are right. That I’m not supposed to punish myself endlessly for what has happened.”

“Solaire, it’s not the same.” Oscar muttered with the little voice he could muster. “What I did is beyond forgiveness, but I still must try to make it up to all of you. Otherwise, all the pain I’ve caused will be for nothing. My fate is no longer mine, Solaire. It belongs to the Chosen Undead...and to you.”

“And I reject it, Oscar.” Solaire replied, taking a step closer to Oscar, a deep frown between his eyes. “My fate and purpose are mine alone, just like the Chosen Undead’s were theirs. They are not yours to claim or live. That’s why I don’t want you to devote your life in the search for my sun, Oscar. I did not want to tell you this just before we departed, but you need to know. My search for my sun is my fate, not yours.”

Oscar tried to reply. Solaire had not held back with his words, so neither would he. He would show him no mercy, he would show him that an elite knight was as skilled with his tongue as he was with his weapons.

_I’m not an elite knight._

Oscar’s legs faltered. He fell to his knees, prostrated in a defeated position from which he felt there was no escape.

He had felt so strong and healed just a while ago, and yet, it had merely taken a small peek to his past actions to make him question how real his recovery had been.

And now, he had lost his purpose again.

Solaire had taken it from him.

Strangely enough, Oscar felt no resentment towards him.

It had been merciful of him to cut Oscar’s hopes short before their journey had even started.

“What do I do now, Solaire?” Oscar said, his head hanging from his neck as he stared at the cloudy sky. “If I can’t live in the name of the Chosen Undead, the crestfallen, the raven and all the Undead at the Asylum I condemned, then what life am I supposed to live? If I’m not meant to devote my life to you, then what am I supposed to do? What kind of fate does a man like me can have?”

“Your own, Oscar.”

Slowly, Oscar moved his head from the sky and looked at Solaire. He hadn’t noticed the moment Solaire had knelt in front him.

Without saying anything, Solaire put away the Estus flask in his bag and held Oscar by the shoulders. His touch was always so gentle and considerate, almost fatherly. Oscar did not know why Solaire thought he was still worthy of his empathy. He would have asked him, had he not been also so bewildered by Solaire’s answer.

“You are free and worthy of following your own fate.”

“Solaire.”

“I helped you so that you could live and fulfill your purposes, not to shackle you to a debt that doesn’t exist. Oscar, I want to travel with you, I want to be at your side as we both explore this bleak land and we try to fulfill our goals, but please, don’t give up on your own fate.”

A sad smile formed in the corner of Solaire’s mouth.

“Then how?” Oscar said, not even attempting to reciprocate the gesture when he knew he couldn’t. “How do I make amends for all I’ve done? How do I redeem myself, Solaire?”

“I tried to do the same, remember? I wanted to repay you for all the harm I thought I had done to you. I thought my guilt would end up making me go Hollow, but what did you say to me, Oscar? That there was nothing to repay. That there was nothing to forgive, but I don’t think that was correct. I think there was plenty to forgive. I still think that a lot of what I did was unfair... but you forgave me, and you were so earnest about it that you didn’t even notice.”

Solaire sniffled his nose and chuckled under his breath. He pulled Oscar closer to him.

Oscar welcomed the embrace in silence.

“Forgive yourself, Oscar.” Solaire said. “Live. Continue your own path. That’s all you need to do. I’m sure the Chosen Undead would have thought the same.”

Oscar knew it too.

He knew the Chosen Undead, being the selfless dolt they had been, would have thought so too.

It didn’t make things easier.

Not in the slightest.

“I don’t know how.”

_Or if I can._

Oscar’s soul quivered inside him, as if the little Humanity that remained within him was desperate to escape his body.

“We’ll figure it out together.” Solaire patted his back and sighed. “You’ll see.”

“Yes.” Oscar felt he needed to say more, but he couldn’t. Once again, he felt he had said too much while he had allowed Solaire to say very little.

He found solace in that, at the very least, he had restrained himself from spitting out poisonous and unnecessary remarks. He wasn’t sure if he could call it an improvement, but he was thankful Solaire had not paid the price of his mistakes this time.

_How my past self would have reacted to all this?_

The question served no real purpose, but it still fluttered around his mind while he allowed Solaire to continue to hold him for as long as he wanted.

_What would that elite knight have done in my place?_

He thought he found an answer.

_He would have never allowed this. He would have rather die than to allow any weakness to show._

He didn’t know if it was real, but it wasn’t pleasant.

_It isn’t weakness. It’ll help me grow and be better._

Gently, Solaire let go of him.

_Right, Solaire?_

“Our departure from Firelink Shrine is not going exactly as we expected, is it?” Solaire said with a drowned laugh.

“No. Then again, what ever goes as expected in Lordran?” Oscar answered, feeling a subtle lift in his humor.

“Always with the sunny thoughts, Oscar.”

“Just one of the many reasons why I wouldn’t make a decent Warrior of Sunlight.”

“Believe it or not, I think you’d make a fine warrior of the sun. You’ve got a strong arm, a strong faith and most importantly, a strong heart.”

Oscar hid his disagreement behind a small smirk.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you... if you perhaps were interested in joining the covenant.” Solaire continued, quite flustered. “I thought it could be some sort of good luck ritual between us before we set on our journey. It wouldn’t be official, not without an altar of sunlight to pray at, but... no, it was thoughtless of me. I’m sorry, Oscar. This isn’t what you need at the moment.”

Oscar first impulse was to disregard Solaire’s assertion, but he realized his friend was right. It wasn’t that the idea of joining the Sunlight covenant repelled him, but he didn’t feel prepared to assume such commitment.

“I’ll think about it, Solaire. I cannot give you an answer, not right now.” Oscar said, carefully picking up Solaire’s helmet again. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”

“It’s alright, take all the time you need.” Solaire said reassuringly.

They spent a short moment in silence.

“Perhaps,” Oscar said, putting down the helmet, “there’s another thing we could do before we depart. It’s not exactly as hopeful as joining a covenant, but I think it could prove to be just as meaningful.”

_For all of us._

He searched in all his bags, but he found not what he was looking for. Solaire looked at him with childish curiosity.

“Damn.” He hissed under his breath. With some embarrassment, he asked Solaire, “do you have some prism stones with you?”

“Y-yes!” No sooner had Oscar asked him than Solaire was already stretching his hands full of shinning pebbles towards him. “I always carry them with me. Many say they are useless, but they always help me find my way around a new place. They’ve also saved me from quite a few nasty falls. And they are pretty.”

Oscar smiled before picking up four from the bunch, each of a different color.

“There are also more sentimental uses for them." Oscar explained. "Some use them to guide their friends back to them if they ever become separated. Among the elite knights, we used them to mark the dying places of our fallen comrades, in hopes the stone’s shine would guide their souls back home after death. We had no time for funerals, and the bodies were unceremoniously thrown into a collective pyre, but this we did. It was not much, but it was all we could do, and I... we liked to think it meant something.”

“It does, Oscar.” Solaire said. After putting away the rest of the stones, he stood up and offered Oscar a hand. “It definitely does.”

Oscar accepted the help. Then, he went to the bonfire, Solaire following him silently.

“For us Undead, the bonfires are the closest thing we have to a home. ”

He knelt in front of the bonfire and waited for Solaire to do the same. Then, he settled one prism stone close to the bonfire’s ashes, incrusting it deeply into the ground but without burying it completely, still allowing the pebble’s red surface to glow.

“For all the Undead at the Asylum that went Hollow.”

Oscar allowed a moment of silence to pass before he continued.

He placed a second stone, this one shinning green.

“For the raven that brought me and many others to this place.”

Another respectful pause.

Oscar picked up a blue stone, but before he repeated the process, he had a change of heart.

Instead, he gave it to Solaire.

Solaire understood. Oscar could tell it was not easy for him, but he hoped it would help him heal.

“For the warrior that watched over this shrine and its pilgrims for so long.”

Solaire’s voice remained steady, and if there was a lump in his throat threatening to break his words, he gave no signs of it.

Not blind to the effort he was making, Oscar allowed Solaire a moment of silence longer that the others, and he only continued once Solaire gave him a small nod.

Oscar picked up the last pebble on his hand.

This one was completely white.

He opened his lips, but it took him a moment to find his voice. He closed his eyes, readying for himself for what he was about to do.

Oscar wondered why he hadn’t suggested the ritual sooner, and he doubted he would have carried it out at all had it not been for Solaire.

A part of him feared he had done so out of resentment, but when Oscar allowed himself to look at his actions with kinder eyes, he discovered he was wrong.

_You are dead. Gone forever._

Oscar opened his eyes again and began to place the prism stone in front of the line he had formed with the others.

_That has always been real, but with this ritual, I’ve made it completely clear to myself. I didn’t want to accept it, but I have to. I must._

“For the Chosen Undead,” Oscar said, tracing the stone’s surface with his finger one last time, “who saved my life and gave me a second chance.”

_I won’t waste it. I promise._

Solaire put his arm around Oscar’s shoulders.

“It’s alright.” Solaire told him. “We are going to be alright, my friend.”

Oscar didn’t answer.

Not because he didn’t want to.

He couldn’t.

But he believed Solaire.

He did so with all his heart.

* * *

“Unsurprisingly, you return empty handed. Useless peasant. I knew you were too incompetent to carry out even this menial task.”

“I missed you to, darling. And hey, don’t blame me! I did manage to find that godforsaken Astoran crest shield, you know.”

“Then why did you not bring it here as you were instructed? Would this hyena really betray me? Surely you know what consequences would fall upon you if you tried.”

“Oh, calm down. Unlike this forsaken place, Lordran is full of morons eager to be tricked and looted. You can’t blame a man for trying to have some fun! I was gonna make a fortune out of that piece of trash before I brought it here... but things took a tiny sour turn. At least I learned that Warriors of Sunlight are not only rainbows and sunshine. I also remembered why I hate clerics. With. All. My. Soul.”

“Your blabbering is shameful. Had you not proved your usefulness before, I would snuff out your life this very instant.”

“I do not like the words that come out of your mouth, luv, but I do enjoy watching you so incensed. It makes that pretty Hollow face look so beautiful, almost... alive.”

“Cease with your idle chattering and listen to me, hyena. I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself for your absolute failure. This mission I’m giving to you may sound simple to your dense ears, but it holds more importance that you can imagine.”

“Really? Well, why not entrust it to someone more capable, then? Why would give so much responsibility to this incompetent hyena whose feelings you so much hurt with your insults?”

“Because I must make some use out of your unbearable and deceiving silver-tongue. Besides, I trust you’ll be interested in such task. After all, is it not the amusement of tricking poor unfortunate fools the only joy in your miserable existence?”

“That was harsh. A simple ' _please'_ would have sufficed.”

Patches grinned at the ever-frowning woman.

“Well then, who is the poor idiot you want me to lure into your claws this time?”

The woman smiled.

Her heavily Hollowed features denied her face the pleasure of conveying her emotions, but Patches could still read what she was trying to express.

To his surprise, he saw no trace of malevolence in her gesture.

There was longing in it, and satisfaction.

Innocent and pure satisfaction.


	16. Dragon's fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Early update this week :D there's also a chance I'll update again this saturday. I'm doing this because next week could be a little chaotic for me and I may not have time to update lol. Idk, things could turn out to be alot more chill than expected but I'll still try to get the next chapter done ASAP.
> 
> As always, thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to Mrs littletall, ammyretsu and inedible for the amazing comments!!
> 
> Btw, I think it's best I adress this now. So, as most of you probably know, I never planned this fic to be this long. This was an one-shot that evolved into a two-shot, only for it to evolve again into the multi-chaptered fic that it is today. As such, I have made some changes to the original ending and plot I had on mind and... there may be some spoilers in future chapters related to DS 3. I am adding it to the fic's tags as well, but I also thought it would be good for you guys to hear it (or read it haha) from me. 
> 
> I am really sorry if this proves to be an incovinience for any reader who has yet to play DS 3 or is just not interested in playing it. I take full responsability for this, as I'm the author of this story and it was me who suddenly decided to expand this fic so much. The story will still be focused on Oscar though, so don't worry about this aspect of the fic.
> 
> Anyway, thanks a lot again to everyone reading!

"The hyena failed in his task, my lord. But worry not, for I foresaw the potential consequences of his incompetence and acted accordingly. We'll soon have an Astoran crest shield in our hands, this I promise you."

"Very well. I do not like setbacks, but I trust your judgement. You have never let me down before; I'm sure this time will not be the exception."

"My lord, I am hardly worthy of such kind words. Please, do not waste them so freely on me. I am but your humble servant. Your wishes are my own, and my sword is yours."

"...I believe I have told you many times there's no need for this degree of formality between us. And you do know you are free to call me by my name, do you not? Just like all Hollows do."

"I do, my lord; however, though I'm thankful for your humbleness, I'm afraid I cannot bring myself to obey you in this. For my lips and tongue to pronounce your name would be nothing short of a sin!"

"Fine, fine, adress me as you wish. _My lord_ will do. Humans, your kind has always been so prone to flattery. No wonder the ancient gods became so enchanted with you, at least for a short time. And I think I too have fallen under your spell. It's strange I've realized it now, just when my time—"

"My lord?"

"Ah, pay no attention to me. It's just the blabbering of an old fool. Nothing you should concern yourself with, not when the duty I have bestowed upon you is so important. Go now, and do not fail me. Not now that our time has finally come."

"You can count on me, my lord. As you always have."

"And I always will."

* * *

“It’s safe here. Let’s take a rest.”

 _"_ No, we must continue.”

Letting their guard down in such place was dangerous. The Hollows had not followed after them, but Oscar knew it would be foolish to think they were free of danger.

They had to keep moving forward until they reached a new bonfire. No place was truly safe unless it was surrounded by the warm protection of the flames.

For a moment, Oscar considered returning to the last bonfire they had lit, right at the entrance of the parish, but he discarded the idea promptly. While not too far away, the road to the bonfire was riddled with the enemies he and Solaire had barely been able to sneak by.

They had no means to confront so many of them in battle, not with the current state of their weapons.

The fact they had passed unnoticed had been more a matter of luck than of skill. There was no point in going back.

If they were to take the risk, Oscar knew it was better to move forward than to go back.

“Just for a moment.” Solaire insisted, resting his back on the dusty wall. “I merely need a few minutes to catch my breath.”

Oscar looked at him, and a surge of shame made him regret his cold and logical line of thought.

Their battle against the Taurus Demon had taken its toll on Solaire and his equipment. It was to be expected, given that it had been him who had dealt most of the damage to the monster.

Solaire had not bragged about it, and he had praised Oscar’s performance in the battle, even when he had acted as little more than bait during the whole ordeal. It embarrassed Oscar to remember how little he had added to the battle, wielding only a rusted longsword he had taken from a Hollow’s corpse in the Undead Burg.

He had tried to make the best use out of the weapon, but there was only as much damage a wasted piece of metal could inflict. By the time Oscar had decided the coiled sword would perform better, Solaire had already delivered the killing blow.

Yet, while the Taurus Demon had not been gentle to their equipment, it had been the Hellkite dragon at the bridge who had reduced it almost to burnt scrap, Solaire’s shield above all.

Oscar’s crest shield had resisted the dragon’s fire breath decently, but his rusted longsword had been reduced to ashes.

It had been Solaire’s shield, however, which had saved them both from the relentless waves of heat the dragon spat them. Solaire had said nothing to Oscar; he had merely grabbed him by the waist and covered them both under his shield before charging at the other side of the bridge, right towards the parish’s entrance.

How they had survived such a bold and reckless move was something Oscar didn’t know, nor he liked to give it much thought.

They had then rested a while at the bonfire, healing their injuries with the warmth of the flames and replenishing their flask with fresh Estus, but there was little either could do to repair their deteriorated weapons, shields and armor.

Now that he looked closely at Solaire, Oscar wondered if their equipment was the only thing the bonfire hadn’t fully healed.

“Very well.” Oscar agreed. He went to Solaire’s side and helped him sit down.

Once they were both resting on the wooden floor, Oscar tried to take Solaire’s shield away from his arm so he could rest, but he resisted.

“Don’t worry, its weight doesn’t bother me at all.” Solaire smiled at Oscar. “How’s the helmet? Have you gotten used to it already?”

“Yes. You were right, Solaire. The protection it offers is magnificent.” Oscar said, taking the heaume off. Then, before Solaire could reply, he tried again to remove Solaire’s shield.

Solaire opposed him once more, this time with twice the strength.

It was then Oscar knew that his suspicions were correct.

“Your arm.” Oscar’s voice gave no place for contradictions. “Let me see it.”

Still, Solaire was not a man easily intimidated, and he had proven to be quite adamant when he wanted to. While both were traits Oscar deeply respected, they were also a test to his patience.

“I’m fine, Oscar.”

“Then show it to me.”

“No.”

“I’m not going to ask you again, Solaire.”

“Are all elite knights this headstrong, or is it just you?”

“You’re not exactly what I would call agreeable, my friend.”

“Only because you never stop insisting. Once something gets in your head, you can’t let it go, Oscar. Just like it happened back at the Burg, remember? I told you that I could take down that dark knight on my own, but you said no, that I had no chance, that I still was not prepared for such challenge... and there was no convincing you otherwise.”

“And I believe I saved your life by doing so. You’re welcome. Now, for the last time, show me your arm, Solaire.”

“For the last time, no.”

“Then I’ll kill you.”

Solaire turned pale, and while the devastated look in his eyes made Oscar feel like the worst man to have ever existed, he did not waste the astonishment his hollow threat had earned him.

He swiftly removed Solaire’s shield from his forearm.

Solaire winced in pain and clenched his jaw. He tried to retreat his arm closer to his chest, but Oscar held it by its metal bracelet and pulled it closer to himself instead.

The sight of carbonized skin and exposed muscles of Solaire’s hand was difficult to endure, even for a hardened knight like Oscar. The chainmail on his forearm was deformed, as if it had been about to melt and fuse with the skin underneath.

Oscar looked away for a moment. If the mere sight of the burn had left him speechless, how unbearable was the pain for Solaire?

_You didn’t say anything. Why?_

Overcome with an anger that he couldn’t wholly understand, Oscar quickly took out his Estus flask and poured all the elixir on Solaire’s hand and forearm.

Solaire hissed and threw his head backwards. The muscles on his neck were as tense as the cord of a bow, and Oscar could only wonder how he had been able to keep himself from screaming at a pain that could have easily reduced any other knight to a sobbing mess.

“Fool.” Oscar said as he continued holding Solaire’s bracelet, allowing the Estus to permeate its healing essence into his destroyed skin. Little drops of Estus mixed with his blood and dripped from his fingers and the edges of his palm. “Of course the dragon’s fire injured you! Look at how it left your shield... you were lucky it didn’t melt it right on top of your head!”

_I should have known he was injured. I should have known... but why didn’t he tell me? Doesn’t he trust me?_

“You are the fool.” Solaire said, freeing his hand from Oscar’s grasp and holding it close to his chest as he had originally intended. His face was slick with sweat and his eyes were only half-opened. The rhythm of his breathing was quick and uneven. “Wasting your Estus in a dragon injury when you know well it won’t heal it.”

The revelation struck Oscar like a mace.

What Solaire said was true.

Injuries born from a dragon’s fire never truly healed, and they never stopped hurting. It was one of the many reasons why dragons had been so feared in ancient times.

Oscar knew this.

He always had.

It was one of the most basic pieces of knowledge for a knight.

Why then, had he been so sure the Estus would work?

Had the Hollowing tarnished that part of his memory?

Or had his despair at seeing Solaire so heavily wounded clouded his better judgement and driven him to a moment of irrationality?

Oscar hoped the former was the true reason. He could deal with the consequences of his Hollowing, but to endure the fragility of his own bruised spirit was a challenge no less threatening than the fire of the Hellkite dragon.

He forced himself to ignore those thoughts. It was not the time to question his strength or courage. All that mattered was getting Solaire to a bonfire.

Even if neither the Estus nor the fire could heal the wound, they at least could provide more comfort to his pain.

“Let’s get back to the bonfire. Hurry, before the effects of the Estus fade.”

Before Solaire could complain, Oscar returned his heaume to him and placed it on his head. It was him who now needed the protection the most.

Just as he was readying himself to support Solaire’s weight on his shoulders, Solaire stood up on his own, his sunlight sword hanging firmly from his clenched and healthy hand.

Oscar looked at him from the floor. From that angle, Solaire looked not like a jolly knight, but as a powerful and determined warrior, in no way weaker than Oscar, and perhaps stronger in his own manner.

With his burnt hand, he picked Oscar up by the neck of his armor and put him back on his feet. Then, he picked up his round and half-melted shield and held it firmly in front of his chest.

“There’s no point in going back now, Oscar. If we do, I don’t think we will be able to sneak by all those Hollows again, especially not with that Fang boar keeping guard. No... we have to keep moving. The next bonfire can’t be far.”

“Solaire, you can’t carry on in this state.”

“Of course I can. Don’t worry, I won’t be a burden to you.”

“It’s not about that at all!” Oscar exclaimed. “I just don’t want you to—”

“Die?” Solaire said. Oscar could hear the faint echo of his chuckle, muffled by the confines of the heaume. “That’s odd. Didn’t you threaten to kill me if I didn’t obey you just a few moments ago? I know elite knights tend to be overly strict, but I think you take it a little too far, Oscar.”

Solaire laughed more explicitly this time.

Oscar could not see what was so amusing, just like he couldn’t understand how he could have said that in the first place, regardless of his true intentions.

“I would never.” Oscar said, his words full of regret and distaste for his actions.

Had his tasteless and empty threat broken something beyond repair?

Was his unyielding insistence more than what Solaire was willing to put up with?

_I didn’t mean to... I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I’m an idiot._

“I would never do that to you. I just wanted to catch you off guard so I could take your shield from you. Solaire, I would never—”

“I know, Oscar. Relax, I’m not angry at you at all.” It was Solaire’s time to be apologetic. “But you were right. I need to die.”

“What the hell are you saying? You are not Hollow, so stop talking nonsense, Solaire.” As incensed as he was distressed, Oscar felt tempted to punch Solaire in the gut to knock sense into him before he could continue with his ridiculous blabbering. “You won’t die, not as long as I’m with you. I’ll keep you alive no matter what, you hear me?”

“Oscar, we are Undead. I have died before; not many times, but this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve experienced death. I’ll just be reborn from the bonfire’s ashes and—”

“I don’t care. Undead or not, I will not let you die.”

“Oscar, my wound will not heal unless I’m reborn. You know this as well as I do.”

“It doesn’t matter! Death is not something to be taken lightly, Solaire. Each time we die, we lose a part of ourselves, a piece of our identity that we can never get back! Death is never trivial, no matter how many times we can come back to life. Besides, you almost went Hollow not too long ago, remember? Just as I did. Our souls and Humanities have not healed from it... and I don’t know if they ever will. If you die again, you may go Hollow instead of being reborn. No Solaire, I won’t let you die.”

“I won’t go Hollow. My Humanity is strong, thanks to you. It’s yours you should be worried about, not mine. The Humanity the Taurus Demon dropped... you still haven’t used it, have you? Use it now on yourself, Oscar. You need it... you have needed it for a long time. Please, listen to me about this.”

Oscar had not forgotten about it.

He had kept, under Solaire’s petition, the Humanity left behind by the Taurus Demon.

Humanity was rare. Oscar knew they had to treasure every little piece of it they could find and to ration it with twice as much care.

The idea of using it on himself had never crossed Oscar’s mind.

If anything, he had always expected to use that Humanity on Solaire if he ever came close to Hollowing again.

“Oscar, use it. If you die in your state, it is you who will definitely go Hollow. Please, my friend.”

The Humanity, safe inside the leather of his bag, was weightless, but in that moment, Oscar felt as if it was the heaviest burden in the world.

His free hand trembled while the one holding his crest shield tightened his fingers around the metal handle.

_I know... but if I use it, what will happen to you? If you ever come close to go Hollow, how will I be able to save you?_

Trapped between indecision and the need to hurry, a godsend idea came to Oscar.

_The kindling._

While Petrus had been less than reliable and potentially murderous according to Solaire, his statements regarding the strengthening of the bonfire’s effect gave Oscar the hope he so desperately needed.

It was natural that a faintly burning bonfire couldn’t heal a dragon’s wound, not when it could barely heal normal injuries inflicted by weapons, but if feeding it Humanity made its flame brighter and more powerful, there was a chance it could erase all trace of the Hellkite’s fire from Solaire’s flesh.

Though overly hopeful, Oscar clung to the idea and transformed it into his new and only objective.

He would kindle the next bonfire they found, and it would heal Solaire.

He would not let him die.

Never.

“Oscar?”

“Let’s get going, Solaire.” Feeling his spirit freshly renewed, Oscar quickly wielded the coiled sword in his hand and steadied his hold on his shield. Then, he went to Solaire’s side. “We’ve got no time to waste. The Estus’ numbing effects will not last for long. Can you walk? Do you need me to—”

“I can walk on my own, but I won’t go anywhere; not until you use the Humanity, Oscar.”

“Let’s keep moving, then.” Oscar said before Solaire could continue with his empty threat. “Stay behind me and alert me of any enemy you see. Hurry.”

Oscar did not wait for Solaire’s answer. He didn’t know what made him so sure that Solaire would follow him and not fulfill his threat of staying behind.

When Oscar did not hear his footsteps, he began to believe Solaire had indeed abandoned him, but it didn’t take long for his steps to resonate behind him.

The silence between them was tense and heavy.

Oscar did not dare to look over his shoulder. He did not want to discover how truly furious Solaire was at him for ordering him around as if he was his squire.

_It matters not. He’ll understand once the kindled bonfire has healed his wound. I’m sure Solaire will realize I’m doing this for his own good. If I am stern, it’s only because we have no time to lose. Everything will be fine; we just need to get to the bonfire._

After some more thought, Oscar decided that, even if Solaire did not forgive him right away and decided to remain angry at him, it wouldn’t matter. Saving Solaire’s life was Oscar’s priority; he had no time to worry about offended egos or bruised stubborn streaks.

“On your left.” Solaire warned him, his voice forceful but neutral. “A Hollow. Shielded and armed with a lance.”

Oscar reacted by instinct and spread his arm to halt Solaire before he could charge at the enemy.

“I’ll take care of it.” Oscar informed him with the same unyielding voice that always escaped when he gave Solaire an order. “Wait here and stay hidden. Do not forget to watch your back.”

“I can fight at your side, Oscar.”.

“No. In your state, you’ll only hinder me.”

His words sounded brutal, even to himself. Solaire had never made him feel like a burden; and yet, Oscar had had no qualms about inflicting so much severity against him. He knew he wasn’t lying, and that having Solaire fight at his side in his condition would not end well for either of them, especially for Solaire.

If Oscar wasn’t careful, Solaire could easily be killed. Even a lonely and pitiful Hollow like the one that stood not far from them could defeat Solaire, heavily injured as he was.

Oscar couldn’t let that happen.

“Do as I tell you, Solaire.” He insisted.

Without further warning, Oscar approached the unknowing enemy and stabbed the creature in the back just as it was about to turn around after the metallic echoes of Oscar’s armor reached it. The Hollow cried in surprise and fury as Oscar dug the coiled sword deep into its back until he could feel it crash against the creature’s ribcage.

He removed the coiled sword roughly, making sure to cause as much damage as possible to the Hollow’s insides. When the sword reemerged, it was soaked with putrid blood.

The hit however, had not been lethal, and the Hollow turned around as soon as it touched the floor. It lunged its spear at Oscar, aiming directly at his exposed chest.

The creature’s quick recovery caught Oscar off guard, but his honed senses reacted with no less agility than his body. He put his crest shield before the blade of the lance and himself.

He listened carefully to the screech of the metal as it slid along the surface of the shield. The sound was distressing, but to his ears, it also served as a guide.

He waited, and when the right time came, he repelled the spear with a strong and precise swing of his shield. The successful parry left the Hollow unarmed and completely exposed, and Oscar ended its life with a riposte that destroyed the creature’s neck, almost severing it in half.

The Hollow growled with the last of the breath left in his body. Its limbs twitched one more time before they became stiff with death.

Oscar stared at the corpse and saw how the Hollow’s neck was singed and darkened, as of the weapon that had caused its death had been covered in fire. Oscar quickly looked at the coiled sword, but there was nothing unusual about the weapon.

Its broken ends had no fire in them, only blood.

Oscar inspected his memories, but he couldn’t recall having seen any signs of fire during their fleeting fight.

Had the adrenaline of the moment erased the memories of the fire, or had the coiled sword burned its victim in some other way?

The question kept Oscar distracted for a moment, but he soon removed it from his mind and focused again on the task at hand.

“It’s done.” Oscar announced before turning around. “It’s safe now, Solaire.”

He waited for Solaire to come out from his hiding place behind the wall of the set of stairs.

Nothing.

“Solaire, you can come out now.”

He ignored him again.

Oscar rolled his eyes and went to Solaire. 

_Seriously?_

He understood Solaire was angry at him, but such behaviors were beyond childish, and above all, unnecessary.

“We have no time for this.” Oscar said as he walked towards the stairs. “Look Solaire, you can ignore me all you want once we get to a bonfire. Until then, I need you to—"

He wasn’t there.

Solaire had either abandoned him or he had Hollowed and perished for good.

The reason made little difference for Oscar.

In the end, only the weight of his reality remained.

Solaire was gone.

* * *

Oscar’s words had cut deep.

Solaire’s first instinct had been to feel a burning fury against his friend, but the flame of his anger had perished almost as quickly as it had manifested.

He couldn’t be angry at Oscar, not when he had merely spoken the truth.

In his pathetic current state, Solaire would only be a burden to him in battle.

Ever since they had entered the Undead Burg, Solaire’s efforts had been divided in only two things: keeping Oscar safe and not being a dead weight to him.

Deep inside him, he had also wished to impress Oscar with his skills. Undead or not, Oscar was still an elite knight of Astora; the first of the elites to have ever treated Solaire with dignity and spoken to him as his equal, not as if he was a traveling fool to be laughed at or a pest to be shooed away.

Oscar had saved his life, he had looked after him during his recovery from his failed Hollowing, and even then, he still remained by his side.

He was not only his fellow Astoran or his travelling companion. He was his friend, and Solaire was determined to prove he was worthy of his company.

He would not allow himself to mess things up as he always did. This time, Solaire would perform like never before in his life.

And he had succeeded.

He had killed all the Hollows that stood in their way at the Burg, and not once had any of those foul creatures had the chance to put a finger on Oscar. 

When Solaire killed them, he did so with grace. He did not wish to appear like a savage butcher, but as a skilled and proud knight. In his mind, Solaire thought he had done well, but Oscar had said nothing of praise for his abilities.

Solaire hadn’t taken it personal. It was only natural it would take a lot more than the killing of a few Hollows to impress an elite knight, especially one as strict as Oscar.

He had thought his chance to truly shine had manifested in the form of the black knight they had found at the Burg, but Oscar had forbidden Solaire to even approach it.

It was the first time Solaire had felt truly annoyed at Oscar’s imperative nature, but he had complied, if only to keep Oscar satisfied.

The Taurus Demon had quickly erased all trace of indignation from Solaire’s mind. The demon’s appearance had been Solaire’s best chance to finally demonstrate Oscar all his skills and his true worth as a knight.

During the encounter, Solaire had lamented the absence of his miracles more than ever. Though more than capable with a sword and agile with his shield, his battle style felt incomplete without the thunderous dance of his lighting spears.

A part of him was starting to worry he would never be able to cast them again. The scar the events at Firelink Shrine and New Londo had left in his faith and heart was profound, perhaps even unhealable.

Yet, Solaire had managed to bring down the beast with the help of Oscar, but not even that victory had been enough to impress him.

Rather than feeling disheartened, Solaire felt thrilled by the challenge the prideful knight presented him. Oscar’s reluctance to acknowledge his skills only made Solaire more determined to prove himself.

His eagerness had seldom been so incensed.

Solaire had thought it would be his second greatest source of motivation during their journey, only behind his long-life wish to find his sun.

Instead, his enthusiasm had blinded him to the reality of Lordran’s dangers, and he had paid dearly for his impetuous arrogance. The Hellkite dragon had been like a herald sent by the gods to punish Solaire for his impertinence.

Solaire had thought his shield and his confidence would be enough to keep himself and Oscar safe from the dragon’s fire.

He had been foolish, and he had learned the hard way of the consequences of underestimating a dragon’s power. The mark of his stupidity was branded on his arm, seared with fire, and cemented by his melted chainmail and shield.

At the very least, Oscar had been spared of the consequences of his rashness, and for that, Solaire had been grateful.

However, his relief and concern for Oscar’s well being had not stopped him from being angry at him when he had dared to order him around so shamelessly.

It was hurtful not only because of the manner Oscar had done so, but also for what it implied about their relationship.

What was Solaire to Oscar?

Did he truly see him as his fellow knight, or as his incompetent squire?

Now, it was not that being a squire was something to embarrassed of, not at all! But Solaire had not trained so rigorously and overcome so many challenges to be treated as an unexperienced neophyte.

Even if his arm had been destroyed by fire and his head was burning with fever, Solaire was not going to let Oscar think he could order him around.

Solaire was a capable and noble knight.

He would prove it to Oscar once and for all.

“I will.” Solaire said under his breath as he wielded his blunt sunlight sword and his beloved, half melted shield on his arms. He waited for Oscar to attack the Hollow before he made a run for it, right directly towards the corridor that led to the other part of the church.

He would eliminate the remaining Hollows in the area and then return to Oscar. Then, Solaire would smile triumphally at him.

And Oscar would be impressed at last.

And then Solaire would die.

There was no choice.

Otherwise, his wound would never heal.

It was shame death would not cure him of his stupidity.

The same stupidity that had caused him and others so many troubles in the past.

The same stupidity that had made him the target of the ridicule from knights and commoners alike.

The same stupidity that had almost killed him and Oscar.

“Oscar.”

Solaire became suddenly too aware of the agonizing pain on his arm.

The Estus’ effects were starting to fade.

Just like Oscar had warned him.

_I must go on._

Solaire clenched his jaw until his teeth grinded against each other.

_I must prove myself to him._

Climbing the small set of stairs before him was an odyssey.

_I am not a fool._

The floor under his feet felt unsteady. Had it transformed into quicksand?

There was a Hollow to his right.

The creature attacked Solaire the moment it laid its eyes on him.

Solaire didn’t allow his blurry sight and wavering balance to become obstacles that would hinder his performance in battle.

_I am a knight too._

The Hollow tried to impale him with its lance. Solaire knew the best option was to parry the attack, but he had always been a complete lost cause when it came to parrying, and the poor state of his shield would not make it any easier.

Instead, he used his shield to block the incoming attacks until the creature wasted all of its stamina. Then, he would finish it off with a powerful riposte aimed directly into its brains.

It was not the most complex of strategies, but it was effective. Or it would have been, had it not been for the incapacitating pain that invaded Solaire’s arm each time the broken sword clashed against his half-melted shield.

Soilare could only endure two hits before his arm yielded to the pain and lost all its strength. The Hollow gave him no quarter, and before Solaire knew it, it aimed its lance towards his heart and lunged it forward.

Solaire managed to avoid it, and rather than piercing the center of body, the lance hit the surface of his helmet.

Had it not been for the headpiece, it would have been Solaire’s brains and not the Hollow’s which now painted the ground red.

_Oscar._

His friend had returned the heaume to him, and by doing so, he had saved his life. And to think Solaire had been about to remove it because of the overbearing heat the steam of his sweat caused inside his helmet.

_Oscar... where are you? What am I doing?_

The Hollow’s growls were the only thing that kept Solaire focused on his duty. The creature tried to attack him again, but Solaire severed its arm off with a brutal swing of his sword before it had the chance.

The blunt edges of his sword did not do the work cleanly, and the arm continued to hang to the body of its owner by little threads of rotten tendons and flesh. Solaire finished the job by stabbing the Hollow in the chest.

The creature fell to ground as soon as he removed his sunlight sword from its body. It was already dead before it even touched the floor.

“I did it.” Solaire said, collapsing to his knees and then to the floor. He hugged his arm against his chest, increasing the pain by doing so, but also too overwhelmed by the agony to know what else he could do. “I’m a knight... just like you, Oscar.”

A figure casted its shadow on Solaire.

Solaire smiled at the newcomer.

He knew his friend would come just in time to see his glorious deed.

“I killed it. Yes, I did.” Solaire said to him, lying on his back, his entire body shivering. “Did you see it, Oscar?”

Oscar raised his sword.

He would kill Solaire.

Yet, Solaire couldn’t stop smiling at him.

“Did you?”

Oscar never gave him an answer.

_Oh, elite knights, they are very hard to please. That they are, that they are..._

* * *

“Solaire!”

Without thinking it twice, Oscar lunged the coiled sword forward. It clashed directly against the Hollow’s rapier.

The Hollow, this one taller and better armed that the others, forgot about Solaire and directed all his fury and attention towards Oscar.

Oscar reciprocated the stare, his eyes shining with hatred.

“Disgusting freak.” Oscar spat the creature, not caring if it could understand his words or not. “How dare you?”

The Hollow swung his rapier at Oscar. Its movements were fast and much more sophisticated than the erratic slashes of its fellow Hollows.

It made no difference for Oscar.

_How dare you attack Solaire?_

Rapiers where among the most difficult weapons to parry. Even the most experienced knights thought twice before attempting it, and their chances of failing were always high.

Oscar erased all fear of failure from his mind. He raised his crest shield and waited for the weapon to make contact.

_How dare you try to kill my friend?!_

It happened in the beat of a heart. No sooner was the rapier repelled than Oscar had already impaled the Hollow’s head with the sharp ends of the coiled sword.

This time, the fire of the weapon showed no shyness, and in a matter of seconds, it burnded the Hollow’s head until nothing but ashes remained.

The headless corpse of the Hollow dropped to the floor. Only the horrid stench of its roasted meat served as the proof of existence of its now disappeared brain.

Oscar, with his teeth exposed in a blood-thirsty scowl, could only come back to his senses when Solaire’s voice reached him from below.

“Oscar. You are amazing...” Solaire rested his healthy hand on Oscar’s boot. “Yes, yes... a true elite knight. I’m proud to be your friend, indeed I am.”

“Solaire.” Oscar swiftly secured his shield on his back and the still warm coiled sword on his belt before kneeling next to Solaire.

He removed one of his gloves and the helmet from Solaire’s head. He rested his palm against Solaire’s forehead. He was burning with fever, and not even his sweat was enough to cool it down in the slightest.

If he continued unattended, a mortal seizure was bound to happen.

“No, I told you I would keep you alive. I’m not going to fail you, Soilare.” Oscar said as he put Solaire’s healthy arm around his shoulders and lifted his delirious friend from the ground.

Solaire was so overcome and delusional with fever that he gave no signs of feeling any pain.

While the lack of awareness of his pain could be merciful for Solaire, it was further proof of how close his brain and body were from shutting down.

“Talk to me, Solaire.” Oscar said as he carried Solaire and moved forward. He did not know where he was going, but any place was better than staying put next to the Hollows’ corpses. “Talk to me.”

“Oscar... your face looks like my shield.” Solaire stuttered, highly amused at his observation. “Where is my shield? Or my sword? And my helmet? Did the thief steal them, Oscar?”

“No. They are safe, Solaire. We’ll come back for them as soon as we find a bonfire, alright? Nothing will happen to them, I promise.” Oscar replied, trying his best to feign joy and light-heartedness even when he was at the edge of despair. “So my face looks like your shield? Why is that, Solaire? Explain it to me, come on.”

_Talk to me. Keep talking to me... do not die. Do not go Hollow._

“I...” Solaire’s legs stopped moving, and rather than carrying him, Oscar was forced to drag him. “I don’t know. I— where? Who?

“No, stay awake, Solaire!” Oscar screamed as they both passed a small, half broken bridge of destroyed wood. “Talk to me, my friend. Talk to me.”

Oscar’s desperate pace came to a forceful halt when noticed what waited for them just upfront.

Three Hollows; two armed with swords and shields; and the third, wielding a crossbow.

Oscar cursed his fate and the gods.

Reluctant to leave Solaire behind, but knowing there was no other choice, Oscar gently put Solaire back on the ground, with his back gently resting against a column of stone.

Solaire’s eyes were now tightly clenched, and he hugged his arm while he breathed mouthfuls of air with agitation.

“The sun.” Solaire said amidst the mist of delirium. “My sun.”

Oscar left Solaire’s side and went directly towards the Hollows. His heart wished to stay by his friend’s side and help him endure his moment of pain, but Oscar knew what he had to do.

If he truly wanted to save Solaire’s life, he had to eliminate those godforsaken creatures that dared to stand in their way.

_I’ve got no time for any of you!_

Oscar thought as he prepared his shield and his coiled sword for battle.

"I'll kill you." Oscar shouted at his enemies. The coiled sword reacted to his latent desire and became surrouned by flames.

The Hollows armed with swords charged at Oscar, while the third one shot the first of the many arrows that tried to end his life.

"I'll kill you all!"

Oscar welcomed their encounter, unafraid and bent on one thing alone.

To defeat the Hollows before it was too late and get Solaire to the safety of the elusive bonfire.

He knew not how he would do it , but he would not fail.

His mind was set on it, and just like Solaire had said, there was no power on earth that could convince him otherwise.

* * *

"Hmm, a Hollow attacking other Hollows with a fire sword? Now, that is something you don't see often."

He gazed at the battle scene from the church's roof.

"Hmm, oh...Oh! Wait, he's not Hollow, he's only half Hollow. Should I help him? Maybe I should; then again, maybe I shouldn't. Oh my, this is quite the dilemma."

He removed his helmet for a moment and scratched his chin, as he always did when pondering over sensitive matters.

"Hmm, what to do?"

While the half-Hollow from below continued to fight, Siegmeyer kept thinking.

"What to do?"


	17. The Onion and the Blacksmith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Another early update (but also somewhat late, since I said I would have it ready for Sunday haha). I just really have a lot of inspiration for this fic at the moment, and my week could end up not being the absolute mess I thought it would be so who knows, maybe I'll have the chance to update again one of these days.
> 
> As always, thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to inedible ,ammyretsu, Mrs Littletall and RiriRules4Ever for the amazing comments!
> 
> I hope you like this chapter!

"The armor was always meant to be a replica, but now, thanks to your incompetence, so will have to be the shield. Thankfully, the original helmet and sword were retreived by a dear friend, a man more capable than you in all aspects."

"Is that supposed to make me jealous? Because it's not making me feel anything in particular, other than boredom. And also a bit hungry, for some reason."

"Silence that insolent mouth of yours! You should be grateful that I, once again, found a way to make up for your mistakes."

"Yeah, I guess you are right about that, luv... then again, I think I'm more grateful to whatever blacksmith crafted this little piece! Just look at this beauty of a shield! It looks nothing like a replica to me! Which makes me wonder, why the hell did you send me to retrieve the original when—"

"It was my Lord's command. He wanted the original sword, shieId and helmet. I do not question his reasons, and if you appreciate your life, neither shall you."

"...Were you always this much of a naggin old hag, or did someone piss in your morning ale today?"

"Enjoy your idiotic jests while you can. You have a mission, hyena. You know what you must do; now, take all this and go. Do not fail me or my Lord again."

"Fine, fine! I'm going! Bloody hell, I at least hope this poor idiot has a more interesting conversation to offer than you, luv. Unless this fool is a Hollow too! Oh, Hollows... how boring you all are!"

* * *

The Hollows had perished swiftly.

Only their carbonized corpses remained.

The fire from the coiled sword burned as fiercely as Oscar’s anger.

One last enemy stood in his way.

The crossbow-wielding Hollow aimed at him and took the shot.

Oscar repelled the attack with his shield, just as he had done with the many arrows that were now scattered on the floor.

His refined accuracy and agility made no impression on the creature; completely unintimidated by Oscar , the Hollow aimed again, unaware that the knight had already started running directly towards it, with his burning fire sword ready to end its miserable existence.

Soon, they were merely a few steps away from each other.

_Solaire._

The memory of his friend sharpened Oscar’s senses. He would kill the Hollow with a single blow.

The cut would be quick, clean and lethal.

Then, it all would be over, and Oscar would finally be free to return to Solaire’s side.

The Hollow growled in frustration when the arrow was yet again deflected by the shield.

_Perish!_

“... you foul creature!” a booming voice roared from above. It shattered Oscar’s focus. He feared the Hollow would seize the chance to end his life, but the owner of the voice destroyed the enemy with the plummeting power of his weight and sword.

The impact the newcomer made when his heavily armored body touched the ground created a tremor that shook the floor underneath.

Oscar barely had time to stop his feet before he crashed against the strange knight. He almost tripped and fell to his knees, but he managed to keep his balance by digging one of his heels on the rocky ground.

“I, Siegmeyer of Catarina, shall not let you hurt anyone else again!” The knight exclaimed, blinded by the frenzy of battle. He retired his gigantic greatsword from the Hollow’s mangled corpse and turned around.

His gaze, slightly hidden behind the slit of his round helmet, fell directly upon Oscar.

His offensive stance didn’t falter.

Oscar needn’t see his eyes to know what the knight’s intentions were. To him, Oscar was nothing but another Hollow, an insane monster that had to be cut down.

Oscar readied his stance.

He wouldn’t escape the fight.

If the knight of Catarina was incapable of keeping his battle instincts in check and see that Oscar was not his enemy, then he left him no choice.

Oscar would kill him too, as mercilessly and quickly as he had done with the Hollows.

There was no other way.

Every second Oscar wasted in his presence could cost Solaire his life.

_Forgive me, but I have to._

Oscar thought, wishing fervently that his hollowed face hadn’t made an enemy out of the proud Catarina knight.

Knights of Catarina were among the most honorable, loyal and brave, and they often proved to be invaluable allies and friends.

_I wish our meeting had been different. I do not want to do this, but I must save my friend. I am sorry, knight of Catarina. I truly am._

“Halt!” The Catarina knight exclaimed, spreading his arm forwards with an open hand. “Astoran knight, I do not wish to fight you. Your face tells me you are already half consumed by the Hollowing, but your actions show me that you’re mind remains sane. You fight with an elegance and prowess no proper of a Hollow... but I need to be sure. Do you understand what I’m saying? Are you still capable of rational thought and speech?”

Slightly taken aback, Oscar felt his battle instincts slowly going numb. The coiled sword lost its engulfing flame and returned to be a scorched piece of metal.

Oscar focused.

He couldn’t let his guard down more than he already had. The Catarina knight may have stopped being an enemy, but Oscar had no reason to believe his intentions were pure.

“I am.” He replied, trying to make his voice sound as normal as he could, but its demonic undertone could not be silenced.

He feared it would scare the knight and turn him hostile against him, but the knight of Catarina gave no signs of being particularly shocked by the abnormal sound of his voice. Instead, he immediately relaxed his stance, leaving himself exposed to any of Oscar’s potential attacks.

“I’m glad! I knew you were not like those creatures. I knew it from the very start... well, maybe it took me some time to get to that conclusion, but now I’m sure of it. It’s a pleasure to meet you, knight of Astora. Perhaps you already picked up my name from my less than discreet scream from earlier, but allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Siegmeyer of Catarina, and I have come to this land to quench my thirst for adventure and—Hey, wait! Where are you off to?”

Oscar didn’t answer. By the time the question reached him, he had already left the Catarina knight behind.

He had no time for idle talk or introductions.

The Catarina knight would not attack him, that was all he needed to know.

Oscar secured his crest shield on his back and sheathed the coiled sword on his belt. Before he knew it, he already was back to Solaire’s side.

Solaire’s eyes were shut, his lips moving softly, speaking a quiet and senseless blabbering that Oscar couldn’t understand. His injured arm was glued to his chest; the blood sprouting from the blistered skin had painted the yellow sun on his tunic into a dirty crimson.

“I’m here, Solaire.” Oscar said soothingly, grabbing Solaire’s healthy arm. “I’m here.”

“Hmm? Oh... Oh! I know this man!”

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat and he turned around defensively, his hand ready to remove the coiled sword from his belt and use it to stab the intruder.

His shocked nerves lost their edge when the enemy turned out to be none other than the knight of Catarina. He had followed Oscar all the way back to Solaire; how Oscar hadn’t heard his footsteps and the clinking of his enormous armor disconcerted him for a moment.

Either the knight was incredibly guile and agile, or Oscar had been so eager to return to Solaire that he had become numb to his surroundings.

“Solaire! My friend, it’s good to see you again.” Said the knight of Catarina, Siegmeyer if Oscar remembered correctly. “Do you remember me? We shared some Estus soup on our way here and then—By the lords!”

Siegmeyer gasped in horror. Before Oscar could say anything, Siegmeyer was already kneeling right to his side.

“What happened to him?!” Siegmeyer asked without hiding his concern for Solaire. He leaned closer to him. “A dragon wound! Oh no, no, no. I’m truly sorry, Solaire. I can only imagine the pain you’re in. Here, at least let me help you with this.”

“Don’t touch him!” Oscar snapped at Siegmeyer. He held Siegmeyer by the wrist before he could get his hand closer to Solaire.

“Relax, knight of Astora.” Siegmeyer said. His calmness made Oscar feel some shame for his reaction, but he refused to let him go. “I merely want to pour some Estus on his wound. I have no intention to hurt him. He is my friend as much as he is yours.”

Oscar, regretful of his brashness, released Siegmeyer and allowed him to heal Solaire. It required their combined efforts to separate Solaire’s arm from his chest.

“My sun, my sun!”

“Hold him, knight!” Siegmeyer urged Oscar as Solaire’s erratic trashing almost ended up with his Estus flask shattered on the floor. “Just for a moment more! I’ve already poured half of the Estus!”

“Solaire!” Oscar steeled his body and soul and grabbed Solaire’s wrecking healthy arm and force it to stay still. “You’ve got to hang on! You will be fine soon, I promise.”

“My sun.” Solaire whimpered, his eyes finally relaxing and opening. The blue of his irises was blunted by the blood around them. “My... sun.”

“Easy.” Oscar said, gently putting Solaire’s limp arm down and resting a hand on his agitated shoulder. “Everything will be alright. We are not going to abandon you.”

“There!” Siegmeyer announced. He held Solaire’s injured arm until the effects of the elixir began to show.

Slowly, a semblance of lucidity returned to Solaire’s face.

“Oscar? Is that you?”

“Yes.” Oscar couldn’t suppress a smile. It was however, too soon for celebrations. “Let’s get going. Come on, just one last effort.”

“No... let’s rest for a moment.” Solaire insisted, still quite disoriented by his fever. He hugged his burned arm and closed his eyes. “One minute more Oscar, that’s all I need.”

“I’m sorry.” Oscar said, remorsefully preparing himself to carry Solaire again, no matter how much his friend asked for the opposite. “We can’t.”

Siegmeyer intervened just as Oscar was about to grab Solaire’s arm.

“I’ll carry him.”

“No, I can take care of him.”

“I know you could.” Siegmeyer said, standing up together with Solaire. “But you can’t expect me to stay here and do nothing. It’s obvious you two have endured enough; please, allow me to lend you a hand. Not to worry, I’ll be careful with him.”

Oscar stood up as well. Though genuinely grateful to Siegmeyer for his selfless assistance, he felt uneasy at leaving Solaire under his care.

Despite all their qualities, the knights of Catarina were also infamous for being clumsy and bumbling.

Though it was nothing more than a foolish prejudice born from the constant mockery they received because of their peculiar looking armors, Oscar couldn’t quite silence the fears in his heart.

He then remembered how cleanly Siegmeyer had dispatched the Hollow. There had been little elegance in his entrance, but his movements had been precise and calculated, and there certainly had been nothing clumsy about them.

Oscar chided himself, and for the first time, he felt a sense of trust towards the Catarina knight.

“Thank you, Siegmeyer.” 

A simple nod was his answer. Then, as if reading his thoughts and sharing his sense of urgency, Siegmeyer started to walk, his steps careful but quick.

“Follow me, Oscar.” He said. “There’s a bonfire nearby. I’ll take you there. There we can heal Solaire.”

Though not used to being the receptor of orders, Oscar didn’t contradict Siegmeyer and immediately did as he had told him.

He went to Solaire’s side and offered him as much support as he could without further injuring his blistered arm.

Solaire was barely conscious, but still he tried his best to keep his feet moving so that Siegmeyer wasn’t forced to drag his limp body. His endurance was outstanding, no less impressive than his strength.

Oscar wondered what had ever kept him from joining the elite knights.

Granted, Solaire’s battle style, from what Oscar had seen, was far from perfect, but his flaws were more the natural results of self-training than the consequences of a lack of skill. Under the right tutelage, his whole potential could have easily been unlocked.

_Your skills could have equaled mine._

Why hadn’t Solaire been given the chance when it had been granted to Oscar?

Was there really a gap so big between Solaire’s skills and his own?

_Or maybe it’s just as Petrus said. It was not my skill which got me into the elites, but my birth._

The thought stung more than it should.

Siegmeyer guided them through an open corridor that led to an abandoned building, an old church that paled in comparison with its counterpart.

“We are close now. The bonfire’s downstairs.” Siegmeyer announced.

Oscar reacted at his hopeful announcement, and he immediately abandoned his musings about the customs of his homeland.

How Oscar could allow such trivial and insignificant things bother him when Solaire was in so much pain was shameful beyond belief.

Oscar steadied his hold on Solaire’s shoulder as they entered the old church.

His past was lost and mostly forgotten.

At that moment, nothing mattered except Solaire, and Oscar would not help him by pondering about the injustices that had been inflicted against him back in Astora.

_You are a true knight, Solaire._

Oscar though as he stared at Solaire’s growingly pale semblance.

_You know this, right?_

“Hang in there, Solaire. Your pain will be over soon, you’ll see.” Siegmeyer said as he and Oscar helped him down an old set of wooden stairs.

Solaire gave them no answer, and both knights hastened their steps, both equally worried about their mutual friend.

The stairs seemed never-ending. Oscar thought he would succumb to distress, but the sizzling of the bonfire’s embers burned away his fears.

It didn’t take long for the soothing warmth stored in the room to comfort his body. It offered him relief, but Solaire remained unresponsive and silent.

“Siegmeyer, there you are! I thought you were already gone and that you had forgotten your things here. I served myself some of that soup you prepared, I hope you don’t mind.” A man greeted them. Oscar looked at him from the corner of his eye.

A rough looking, bearded old fellow, muscular and big. He was sitting with his legs crossed right before the bonfire, holding his own Estus flask in his raised hand as if he was making a toast.

“Your friends, I assume? Well, it’s always nice to see new faces around here.”

Oscar could clearly see how the stranger’s smile disappeared as soon as his eyes inspected his face.

“A Hollow!” He stood up and glared at Oscar. His stare softened when he looked at Solaire. “His arm! Siegmeyer, what the hell happened, for Gwyn’s sake?!”

“I’ll explain later, Andre.” Siegmeyer said as he and Oscar gently laid Soilare in front of the bonfire and moved his arm as close to the flames as possible.

It took a moment for Solaire to react again. During that whole time, Oscar could feel Andre’s penetrating and distrustful eyes resting on him.

“Siegmeyer, this man—”

“He’s not Hollow.” Siegmeyer said. “Oscar’s a brave knight, his heart and mind are sane and pure. You needn’t worry about him at all. It’s this man who now needs our help the most.”

“Aye, that arm of his is in awful shape.” Andre conceded. He knelt next to Oscar, and while he could still sense some level of wariness against him, Andre’s attention was exclusively directed at Solaire. “That damned Hellkite dragon really made a number on him. You pathetic, foolish man.”

“Shut up!” Oscar exclaimed. Andre recoiled at the sound of his voice and jolted away from him, falling on his back. “I won’t allow you to address him that way. He’s not foolish or pathetic, he is a proud Warrior of Sunlight and a knight of Astora! If you’re not going to help him and you’ve got nothing more to offer other than some petty insults, then step aside and stay quiet.”

“Now, why we don’t we all calm down and—” Siegmeyer started, in a pitiful attempt to keep the peace.

Oscar ignored him. He stood up and stared at Andre, who looked at him from the floor with an astonished expression. Disdainfully, Oscar turned his back on him. He wouldn’t waste his time in that old fool.

Instead, he searched inside his bag for the piece of Humanity that would save Solaire’s life.

“Ah, Humanity!” Siegmeyer observed, his voice still trembling with the lingering shock Oscar’s reaction had caused in him. “Yes, well thought, Oscar. Solaire will need all the Humanity he can get. We don’t want him to go Hollow after he dies and—”

“He won’t die.” Oscar said.

“What are you saying?” Siegmeyer was perplexed. “The bonfire has already acknowledged his existance. He can now be reborn from its ashes. I don’t understand, I thought you wanted to heal his wound!”

“And I will.” Oscar continued, reaching the Humanity closer to the bonfire.

“Wait, what are you—”

“I’m kindling the bonfire. It’ll make the fire burn strongly enough to heal Solaire. This way, he doesn’t have to die.”

“But a dragon’s wound never heals!” Siegmeyer insisted, getting in Oscar’s way. “Oscar, you can’t possibly think this will work!”

“It will.” Oscar said, feeling exasperated at Siegmeyer’s defiance. It may have been well-intentioned and born out of an honest concern for Solaire, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. “Please, move aside.”

“But... but—”

Oscar was about to reinforce his statement with a much harsher and even threatening tone when a hand grabbed him tightly by the shoulder. Oscar turned his head around right towards Andre; the neutral expression he had been trying to maintain for Siegmeyer quickly turned sour as his eyes became fixed on the elderly man.

Andre didn’t react to his defiant expression, and he merely strengthened his grasp on Oscar.

“Siegmeyer is right, Oscar.” He said, and Oscar didn’t appreciate his name being spoken so casually by a man that did not know him; the same man that had insulted Solaire. “I’ve been Undead for far too long. Trust me when I tell you that, in all my years, I have never witnessed a bonfire heal a wound inflicted by dragon’s fire, no matter how kindled it may be. You’ll only be wasting a fine piece of Humanity, and Solaire’s pain will not be any less agonizing than it is now.”

“Don’t say our names! Besides, I never asked for your advice.” Oscar tried to brush his hand off him, but Andre refused to let him go.

Incensed by the constant confrontation, Oscar began to suspect the whole situation would descend into chaos and aggression.

He made one last attempt to keep the peace, if only for Solaire’s sake.

“A cleric from Thorolund shared this information with me. I know what I’m doing. I don’t need the guidance of neither of you.”

“You obviously do, you impudent child.” Andre said. His hand on Oscar’s shoulder became heavier, almost oppressing. He forced Oscar to turn around completely and face him. “Do you think you know better merely because some cleric shared the secret of kindling with you? Well, did he tell you that the ritual doesn’t work if it is performed by someone heavily marked by the Hollowing? It’s already difficult for a normal Undead to accomplish it; a half-Hollow man like you has no chance! Well, elite knight? Did he tell you this? Do you still think it’s a good idea? Are you still willing to risk wasting a Humanity on this fool’s errand?”

Oscar’s anger finally exploded, and it found a perfect outlet in Andre. He attempted to deliver a crushing blow to his nose. The blow would blind and disorient him long enough for Oscar to kindle the bonfire without more of his relentless meddling.

Who did that old fool think he was?

Why did he insist in prolonging Solaire’s pain?

Did he want Solaire to go Hollow?

What made him think he knew better than Oscar?

_Petrus._

The cruel and mocking sneer of the cleric numbed Oscar’s senses and changed the course of his thoughts.

What had made Oscar think Petrus had been honest with him?

What had made him trust the cleric’s empty and treacherous advice so fervently?

To add insult to injury and more confusion to his mind, Siegmeyer intervened yet again.

“Oscar, please listen to Andre. I know not exactly what you are trying to accomplish by feeding Humanity to the bonfire, but it will not work. There’s only way for Solaire to heal and you know this as well as we do. He has to die and—”

The word released Oscar from his baffled paralysis.

“No! I won’t let that happen!” Oscar managed to escape Andre’s grasp. He back away from the two traitors, keeping the Humanity close to him in case either tried to steal it from him.

Had that been their plan all along?

_Yes... yes of course._

Oscar should have known it was too good to be true. No one would have aided him and Solaire so selflessly without some hidden foul play in between. Oscar had been an idiot for trusting Siegmeyer in the first place, and he had been even a bigger idiot for allowing Andre to make him doubt his judgement.

It was all a trick.

Oscar knew what he was doing. His mind was sane. The Humanity inside him was scarce but strong. He was a sentient Undead, not a paranoid half-Hollow.

The Humanity in his hands didn’t belong to Siegmeyer, or Andre and especially not to himself.

It was Solaire’s alone.

Oscar would not allow it to be used for any other purpose that wasn’t Solaire’s healing.

“Oscar...”

“Stay back!” Oscar exclaimed just after Siegmeyer tried to take a step closer to him. “I’ll kindle this bonfire and I’ll save Solaire, I don’t care what either of you think. Thieves, you shall confuse me no longer! I will not let you take this Humanity from Solaire... I will not let him die! And if either of you tries to harm him, if you even dare to lay a finger on him, I swear I’ll kill—”

“Oscar!”

Solaire’s shout was illuminating, and it destroyed the pulsating sense of tension among Oscar, Siegmeyer and Andre.

Without a second thought, Oscar ran pass the two other men without even looking at them. Neither tried to stop him, and they merely watched him kneel next to Solaire.

“I’m here.” Oscar said, without a trace of the anger that had taken over him seconds ago. His dispersed thoughts found a sequence again, but it was difficult to remember, even less understand, why he had allowed his emotions to get out of control in such manner.

The reaction had made sense in the moment, but now that silence and peace had returned to the scene, Oscar felt as if all had been a fever dream, a moment of madness that had been out of his control.

It scared him to think he was not as in control of himself as he had thought.

_I just lost my senses for a moment... I am fine. I am sane, my Humanity is strong._

“You are right.” Solaire told him in a voice so low that it could only pass as a whisper. “I believe you, Oscar. I want to kindle this bonfire... give the Humanity to me. I’ll feed it to the fire... and then I can heal.”

“Solaire, you don’t know what you’re saying!” Siegmeyer exclaimed. “For Lord Gwyn’s sake, listen to me for a moment! You need to die, Solaire! I’m aware of how horrible it sounds, but otherwise, you’ll never get better; your pain will eventually make you go Hollow! Use that Humanity if you think you don’t have enough to endure a new death, but please, do not throw it into the fire! Andre, help me with this; make them see reason!”

“I’m afraid,” Andre said. “they already made up their minds. There’s nothing we can do, Siegmeyer. If this is truly what they wish for themselves, so be it. We’ve done all that we can for them. This is their choice, not ours.”

“But...” Siegmeyer didn’t know how else to continue, and the rest of his sentence never materialized.

Oscar, silently grateful to Andre for finally understanding and for respecting Solaire’s choice, smiled at Solaire.

His friend returned the gesture.

Softly, Oscar picked up Solaire’s healthy arm by the wrist and put the Humanity on the palm of his hand.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. You don’t have to help me kindle the bonfire, Oscar. I can do this on my own... This injury is my responsibility. Let me do what I must in order to heal myself.”

Oscar was about to protest, but Solaire had spoken with so much confidence that to deny him would seem like an insult.

“Can you just... help me sit down? I’ll handle the rest from there.”

“Of course.” Oscar said, letting go of Solaire’s wrist. Then, he put his hands under Solaire’s back. “On the count of three. One, two...”

It happened in an instant, far too quickly for Oscar to understand what Solaire had done until it was already too late to stop him.

Solaire pressed his hand against Oscar’s chest, right above his heart. The Humanity Oscar had so fervently protected disappeared from sight and fused with the little specks that lingered inside him.

He plunged himself backwards, as if Solaire had stabbed him with a dagger.

But the sensations the act were causing in him couldn’t have been any less painful. His mind was clearer, his nerves were soothed; he felt renewed, more alive... and enraged.

Both at himself for falling for such a trick, and at Solaire for his betrayal.

“No.” Oscar stuttered, clenching to the silk of his tunic, right were the Humanity had touched him. “What have you done?”

He got back on his feet, his hand still clinging to his chest. He wished he knew of the dark art that allowed Humanity to be extracted. He even wished, for a cursed second of despair, that Petrus was there, so that he could perform the deed and return to Oscar the Humanity Solaire had so carelessly thrown away.

“Why, Solaire?” There was no other thing he could think of other than that simple question. “Why?”

“Because you needed it.” Solaire answered with a smile. “And also... because I want you to remain sane after I die, Oscar.”

Solaire then moved his eyes and stared directly at Siegmeyer.

Oscar felt his heart sink to his feet, and he too looked at the Catarina knight.

“Siegmeyer, I hate to ask, but... please, you know what you have to do.”

“Solaire.” Siegmeyer hesitated. Oscar thought he would reject Solaire’s petition, but his hopes burned to ashes when Siegmeyer nodded and wielded his greatsword, still wet with the Hollow he had killed before. “Very well. Your pain shall be over soon, friend.”

“No! I won’t allow any of this!” Oscar uttered, his hand already holding the handle of the coiled sword.

“Oscar... this is how it must be.” Solaire continued; his words were so weak that they could barely resonate above the sizzling of the embers. “I will be fine... I’ll be reborn. I won’t go Hollow... I promise. I’ll come back with my mind intact. Please...”

“You can’t promise that! You can’t be sure you won’t go Hollow... not after what happened!” Oscar pointed the sword at Siegmeyer as a warning. “Don’t move. I won’t tell you again.”

“Oscar, please...” Solaire said, his huffed panting betraying the level of pain he was in.

Oscar wavered, and felt trapped inside a maze where no matter what road he chose, the destination would always be failure.

“Solaire.” Oscar finally spoke, his entire body trembling. “I can’t... I don’t know what I’m—”

Before Oscar could even reconsider his actions, a couple of muscled arms grabbed him by both sides, restrained him and lifted him.

The coiled sword escaped his fingers.

“Do what needs to be done, Siegmeyer.” Andre spoke, taking Oscar with him downstairs as the knight fought desperately to break free from his crushing grip. “I’ll take care of this stubborn idiot.”

“No! Let me go!” Oscar exclaimed, but no amount of struggling was enough to escape Andre. “Solaire! Solaire!”

Their eyes met one last time.

Oscar sank into a dark, familiar feeling.

It lasted only for a second before Siegmeyer blocked their eye contact with his body, wielding his greatsword in hand, steady and prepared to fulfill Solaire’s petition.

Oscar struggled, uncaring of the damage he could inflict on Andre or on his own body with his brusque, demented movements.

“Enough, elite knight!” Andre ordered him, pressing Oscar against him with his abnormal strength. “There’s nothing you can do!”

Oscar noticed.

He noticed that Andre had not intended his statement to be a threat. Regardless of his rough treatment, Oscar was not ignorant of the heartfelt concern the old man felt for him, for whatever reason.

“This is how it must be.” His words were raw, but not barbed. They had been spoken with sympathy, meant as solace.

Oscar understood, and for a moment, he stopped struggling.

But when the memories of his departure from the Northern Asylum resurfaced, forcing him to understand than Andre’s arms felt no different than the raven’s claws as it carried him away, while the Chosen Undead was left behind to be devoured by the Hollows, Oscar’s unhinged urgency to save Solaire returned.

And any sense of peace was lost.

* * *

Death was meant to be meaningless for an Undead. It was its fatality which made it so horrifying for the living, but when such quality was trivialized, what was left to fear?

Ever since the Undead curse had finally appeared on his flesh, Solaire had not given more thought to the subject.

His new ability had fascinated him at first, and more than a curse, it had felt like a blessing.

After his first encounter with Oscar and the events at Firelink Shrine, Solaire could no longer look back at his old self without being overtaken by embarrassment.

Oscar was right.

Death was never trivial, not even for the Undead; but sometimes, it was necessary.

“Are you ready?” Siegmeyer asked. If what he was about to do conflicted him, he did not show it.

Solaire closed his eyes. He was grateful to Siegmeyer for his kindness and bravery.

But Solaire wasn’t ready. He couldn’t; not when Oscar wouldn’t stop screaming his name.

Sometimes, Oscar mistook Solaire’s name for that of his fallen friend, and he cried it with no less grief.

It pained Solaire to witness the effects his stupid mistake were having on Oscar.

Solaire had thought that the Humanity would help his friend see things clearer, that it would give Oscar the strength necessary to endure Solaire’s death, and even overcome his potential Hollowing and permanent death.

He had been an inconsiderate fool.

“Solaire?” Siegmeyer asked again.

Solaire couldn’t answer, not when Oscar’s screams kept ringing in his ears, reminding him of all the pain he had yet again inflicted on those he had tried to help.

“Solaire?”

* * *

“Chosen Undead!”

“Enough!”

Andre slammed Oscar against the floor after numerous failed attempts to calm him down with words. All the air inside his body abandoned him, and the impact almost succeeds in knocking him out.

A flashing white light blinded Oscar for a moment, but he regained his sight and senses before it could sink him deeper into unconsciousness.

The first thing he saw when the blurriness of his eyes faded was Andre’s face. He was holding Oscar down, but he did not care.

Nothing mattered for him.

Only Solaire.

The Chosen Undead.

Oscar tried to call their names again, but his voice remained trapped in his throat. One of Andre’s hands clutched to his neck almost with enough force to asphyxiate Oscar.

Oscar snarled at him, exposing his teeth as if he was a rabid dog. He clawed Andre’s arm with his gloved hands.

“Are you Hollow?” Andre asked Oscar, not caring in the slightest about the small injuries he was leaving all over his forearm. “Are you a mindless Hollow?”

The questions made no sense for Oscar, but Andre wouldn’t stop pestering him.

“Are you lost to madness and grief? Was the Humanity Solaire gifted to you useless? Is this how you want your existence to end?” Andre grabbed one of Oscar’s hands when he tried to attack his face. Andre slammed it against the floor, right next to Oscar’s face. “Is this your fate, Oscar?”

Even if Andre’s hand wasn’t pressing his throat, Oscar wouldn’t have answered.

The question broke through his defenses and shattered his delirium.

For the first time ever since he had lost sight of Solaire, a semblance of lucidity enlightened him and casted away the darkness of his grief, both old and new.

“Or are you a knight?” Andre continued. “A knight capable of enduring the burden of the Undead curse. A knight capable of trusting the strength and respecting the decision of Solaire, a proud Warrior of Sunlight... a knight of Astora, an Undead warrior just like you!”

Oscar’s limbs lost all their resistance. Andre kept holding him back against the floor, but Oscar could have sworn he too had relaxed his grip on him.

“You carry an incredibly pain within you. Do you think I don’t notice? I can see it in your reactions, I can hear it in your voice, destroyed by the Hollowing as it is... but you cannot let all this overcome you. You have to be strong and accept Solaire’s choice, Oscar, no matter what the results may be. You are an elite knight; wiser, stronger, more experienced, and I know that, in your heart, you wish for nothing else than to save your friend.”

Andre let go of Oscar’s neck.

His breathing became whole again, but he still made no sound.

Instead, he stared at the elderly man, who looked at him with a soft, almost fatherly expression.

“He is Undead, Oscar. As are you, I, Siegmeyer and everyone else in this land. Death is our curse, and from our curse we cannot escape. It catches up to us and steals from us, and one day, it will reduce us all to Hollows.”

How cruel of him, to remind Oscar of what he already knew.

“But that’s a future that could still be far away for you if you choose to, Oscar.” Andre continued, his eyes glistening. “Death is our curse, Hollowing is our fate; but right now, being strong enough to endure all this and having faith in Solaire’s willpower is your choice, Oscar... Just as it was Solaire’s choice to give you that Humanity and deciding his own way to heal his broken body.”

Andre took a deep breath before he could continue.

“If you really want to help him, then have faith in him, Oscar. Don’t fall to despair and let old wounds consume you. Trust Solaire and in your own strength. If my long existence has taught me anything, it’s that in this Undead life, faith and hope are no less powerful than Humanity. Hang on to them. Right now, there’s nothing else you can do. And that’s not a bad thing, Oscar.”

The silence that followed was brittle, tense, but also appeasing.

Oscar allowed it to remain unbroken, and when it finally came undone, it was not by his screams, but by the echo of a sword hitting the wooden floor from upstairs.

“You are not Hollow, Oscar. You are an Undead knight, just like Solaire.” Andre said while Oscar’s body and soul reacted to the incident that had just occurred above them. “You are both strong enough to overcome this. I know you are.”

* * *

Solaire had wished for it, but a surge of concern surpassed even the pain of his wound once Oscar's screams ceased.

"Do not worry." Siegmeyer told him. "Andre would never hurt him. A kind heart beats underneath that bundle of muscles, I assure you. Oscar is safe, Solaire."

Solaire nodded. His relief eased his soul, but it also allowed for the pain of his arm to be felt in all its intensity.

"Siegmeyer."

He couldn't say more.

There was no need to, for Siegmeyer understood his cue.

"This is not farewell, my friend." Siegmeyer lifted his greatsword.

Solaire felt as if he was seeing death right in the eye for the first time.

"Wait." He said in the last second. "Just a moment, Siegmeyer. Just a moment."

The Catarina knight complied in silence.

Solaire closed his eyes and rested his arms to his sides. His Humanity and heart beat together in unison.

_This is not my end. I'll not go Hollow. I'll come back, just like I promised._

Oscar had been right yet again. Solaire had no way to justify his promise, but he trusted he would.

Hope had never felt so weak, but it was all Solaire had left, and he hung on to it.

"I'm ready."

Siegmeyer nodded, and though Solaire couldn't see him behind his eyelids, he did hear the whistle of his greatsword as it was lifted upwards once more.

"I'll see you again soon, my friend." Siegmeyer said. "We all will be waiting here for your return."

That simple image fueled Solaire's soul.

It stayed with him until the blade came down and ended it all.


	18. Wisdom forged between the hammer and the anvil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I hope everyone's okay! My week ended up being much calmer that I thought it would be, so have another early chapter!
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to Mrs Littletall for the amazing comment!  
> This chapter is a bit dialogue-heavy, but I hope you all still like it! Also, any criticism is welcome, so don't be shy to let me know of anything you feel I could work on :)

_To persevere to the very end_

_To give succor to those in need_

_To speak the truth at all times_

_To always keep faith_

_To live by honor and die for selfless glory_

_Never to abandon your fellow knights_

_Never to forsake the defenseless_

_To despise envy and wicked ambition_

_And above all, to remain forever strong._

_An Astoran elite knight must never falter._

_An elite knight is a beacon of strength and bravery._

_No matter what tragedy befalls him, an elite knight shall accept and overcome hardship with stoic silence._

_He shall never burden others with his grief._

_Astorans have long been called sentimental, but this shall only be true for commoners and lower-class knights._

_Elite knights must walk a different path._

_Elite knights endure, elite knights never yield._

_Elite knights accomplish, elite knights succeed, without fear, complaints, or tears._

_To fail to do so is to fail as knights and men._

_Weakness and vulnerability are luxuries exclusive to the powerless and the meek._

_They are not the traits of a true elite knight._

_For an elite knight, death shall always be preferable than to succumb to the flaws of one’s Astoran heart._

* * *

The rhythmic clinking of the hammer clashing against the anvil had long stopped being unnerving. It was convenient, in its own way.

If it wasn’t for it, Oscar and Andre would have been immersed in an uncomfortable silence that neither would know how to fill.

While the blacksmith was lost in his craft, Oscar had sought comfort and refuge inside his broken memories, hoping to come across images of better times, but he had only stumbled upon the code of the Astoran elite knights.

Out of all the memories that could have been spared, why had this one survived?

Had he really treasured his status as an elite knight more than his family and friends?

Those who had been dear to him were only faceless silhouettes. They existed somewhere inside his mind, but they had no identity or meaning attached to them.

Yet, the elite knight code had remained; clear, legible, whole. It wasn’t until Oscar remembered it word by word that he realized how rooted its teachings were to the core of his very being.

Even when he thought he had forgotten about it, he had continued to act accordingly to it with blind devotion.

And now that it had resurfaced to the top of his mind, it served as a perpetual reminder of the gravity of his faults and sins.

Oscar had tried to silence his ears to the cruel voice of the code, but it was futile, no less impossible than ordering his heart to stop beating.

_How?_

Oscar pressed his forehead against his folded arms, resting right on top of one of his knees.

_How can I forgive myself when I can’t stop failing?_

He clenched his fists and closed his eyes.

_I couldn’t even save you, Solaire. And now... I don’t even know if you’ll come back. I promised you I would keep you safe. I was meant to protect you. It was my wish, my duty. You trusted me, and I failed you._

Oscar lifted his head slightly and covered his eyes with his hand.

_Just like I failed the code._

His heartbeat throbbed in his temples and throat.

_Just like I failed myself._

“Are you alright?” Andre ventured; his voice was briefly preluded by the pause of the ringing of the hammer.

Oscar reacted by looking directly at the blacksmith. His semblance of sympathy and concern nullified Oscar’s grief and worries and transformed them into indifference.

A cold, convincing indifference that would keep his feelings concealed and safe.

“Yes.” Oscar answered dryly, unsure of where exactly he stood with Andre.

Oscar had been unnecessarily hostile towards him and Siegmeyer. He had threatened them and accused them of treason, and he had come close to attack them.

Or worse.

Oscar knew he had only done so to protect Solaire, but that didn’t make his actions feel any more justified or acceptable. 

He had acted like a savage, like the half-Hollow he was meant to be; and for that, he had no excuse.

“Andre.” Oscar swallowed. He knew it was necessary for him to say it; after all he had done, it was the least he could do; it was also what he needed to do the most. “What I said back there, the way I acted...”

Andre, who had been about to continue with his work, put down the hammer on the anvil and stared at Oscar.

“I apologize.”

When the words finally escaped his mouth, Oscar discovered it had not only been his foolish pride which had made the process so difficult.

A part of him had dreaded to hear Andre’s response.

“Yes, well... You did get a bit out of control. I thought you had gone Hollow for a moment. And these scratches you left in me?” Andre said, lifting his right arm. “I’m sure they are gonna leave some scars. Ah, it ain’t so bad at all! It could be a good excuse to finally get my arm tattooed. I’ve been considering it for a few decades, you know? I just hope I can find a decent Undead artist around here. And if I don’t, I can always ask my dear friend sir Onion!”

He punched his thigh and laughed with all the power of his lungs. He looked up, expecting to hear a reaction from Siegmeyer from upstairs, but he got no answer.

He then looked at Oscar again, but the knight gave him no reaction other than a puzzled look and an arched eyebrow.

“Oh, sod off.” Andre said as he grabbed his hammer again. “You’re no fun! You know, when someone tells a joke, the least you can do is fake a chuckle, Oscar. Just a tiny snort, or a subtle smile... anything to not make the other feel like an absolute—woah, easy there!”

Andre left behind his weapons and anvil and quickly made his way to Oscar. He managed to reach him just as Oscar’s balance failed him. Though a part of Oscar was grateful for the help, he also resented Andre for his selfless assistance.

Now that he was so close to him, there was no way Oscar could escape to the bonfire upstairs.

“I know you want to stretch your legs, but don’t be reckless, Oscar.” Andre told him as he helped him sit down on the cold stone floor again. “It’s always best to take it easy after being infused with Humanity. It’s not exactly an easy process for one’s mind and soul. Rest for a while more; if my conversation is annoying you, I can be quiet if you want... it’s obvious my sense of humor is not as free of rust as my weapons.”

“That’s not the case.” Oscar reassured the old blacksmith. “But I would still appreciate it if you helped me get to the bonfire, Andre. The closer I am to the flame, the faster I will heal. I thank you for allowing me to remain by your side after all I’ve done, but I think it would be best for both of us if you took me upstairs and—”

“No.” The refusal was so definite and final that Oscar had not time to contradict Andre, and he gave him no chance to do so either. “I cannot let you get close to it, not until Solaire is reborn from its ashes. It’s for your own good, trust me. Right now, you need to rest, and staring anxiously into the bonfire as you wait for Solaire’s return will not do you any favors. Just take it easy for now, Oscar. Clear your mind. Give your soul the chance to heal.”

With that said, Andre simply turned his back to Oscar. He returned to his usual place behind the anvil and continued with his work.

“I wasn’t asking for your permission, Andre.” Oscar told him, unable to contain his tongue. “I was asking for your help. I’m still going upstairs to the bonfire, whether you want it or not.”

He took a deep breath and pressed his back against the wall, preparing his legs to carry his weight.

“Stop it, Oscar.” Andre warned him, adding more power to his statement with a slam of his hammer. Sparks emerged from the clash of the hammer against the sword and the anvil. “I know that elite knights always feel entitled to impose their wills without anyone opposing them, but we are not in Astora, and I care not about your former rank at all. None of that matters here in Lordran, so you’d better cease with this lofty attitude before you get yourself hurt. Or someone else.”

The sharp accusation kept Oscar glued to the floor.

“Go to hell.” Oscar hissed, too angry to listen to reason, and too hurt to remain silent. “You know nothing about me.”

“Perhaps, but I too am Astoran, and I know my fair share about the elite knights. You are all the same. That godforsaken code really transforms the lot of you into something dreadful. Just look at yourself.”

“I do, all the time.” Oscar chuckled with disdain, not directed at Andre, but at himself. “Trust me.”

“Then why do you insist on behaving in such way when it causes nothing but pain for you and others?” Andre exclaimed, punching the anvil with his fist. The impact resonated across the room, with no less intensity it would have done if it had been born from the hammer. “Why do you cling to it still, Oscar?”

“You may be Astoran, Andre, but you are not an elite knight. If you truly knew of our code, you’d see how flawless it is. Strict, yes; but also necessary and pertinent. If it wasn’t for it, Astora would have disappeared soon after the Dark Beast attacked.”

“Spare me the history lesson, child. I was there when the monster assaulted our homeland. I know more of it than you think, just like I know how the codes of the elite knights changed afterwards. And it wasn’t for the best.”

Oscar glared at Andre, as if he was challenging him. The fact Andre was old enough to have lived in the flesh the assault of the Dark Beast had shocked him momentarily, but Oscar wasn’t going to let Andre think his age made him any wiser than him, especially not when it came to the lifestyle and honor of the elite knights.

Even if Oscar no longer considered himself worthy of being called one, he held a deep respect for his former rank. Elite knights were not perfect, and perhaps they were far from being the heroes they thought they were, but neither were they dreadful nor vile.

“Astora survived because of the strength and courage of the elite knights.” Oscar said, feeling a warm sensation of honor burning in his chest. “They carried the burden others couldn’t. They sacrificed everything to ensure the survival of those who were too frail to defend themselves... and they continue to do so, to this very day.”

“That they do, and for that, I admire them.” Andre replied, softening his voice as if trying to give praise to Oscar.

Oscar didn’t accept it, and he regretted his choice of words. They had made him look as if he was hungry for flattery and recognition.

_Am I not?_

Oscar’s eyelids rose slightly at the thought.

Wasn’t glory one of the main reasons he had coveted the idea of being the Chosen One foretold by the prophecy?

_I’m a different man now._

Oscar frowned, sharpening his eyes before they could betray the moment of doubt that had clouded his mind.

“But the price, Oscar.” Andre continued. “The toll those codes take on all of you, that’s what changes you. I know it well... I know what it demands from you, of how it indoctrinates you to look down at your own humanity as a weakness, as a flaw to be ashamed of, all while forcing you to bear everyone’s burdens as your own. Always strong, always in silence.”

“And we... they do so with pride and honor. It’s their duty and their privilege.”

“And also, their greatest flaw.” Andre finished for him. “Oscar, do you think you are the first Undead elite knight I’ve come across in this land? Don’t flatter yourself, you’re not so special. Now, don’t take what I’m about to tell you as a personal attack. See it as a warning, if you may; as a piece of advice from your much older fellow Astoran.”

“You can talk if you want, but I will not listen.”

“Unless you have mastered the rather strange ability of deafening your ears at will, I’m afraid you have no choice.”

Andre coughed and spat on the floor before he could continue. Oscar looked away, firmly decided to not look at the old fool at all, no matter what he said.

“You are not everyone’s savior, Oscar.” Andre said. “You cannot save everybody; you are not meant to. The deaths you witness, unless they are caused willingly by your own hand, are not your responsibility nor your failures. You are a skilled knight, but you are also just a man... just a pitiful human with a flawed heart; you are not an emotionless god nor an undefeatable hero, and that’s not something you should be ashamed of, no matter what your codes say.”

Oscar remained silent, still not daring to look at Andre.

If only the blacksmith knew how deeply his words were cutting. He felt as if he had struck him with his hammer, but Andre’s weapon had remained untouched on the anvil.

“Many elite knights never accept this. They continue to play their role, and it doesn’t take long for them to succumb to the horrors of Lordran.”

“Do not talk ill of them.” Oscar said, his face still turned to the opposite side. “An elite knight’s glory and successes are never his to claim... we are all nameless warriors with a single duty: to protect the defenseless and share our strength with others. Nothing else matters to us.”

“Oscar, I’m not mocking the elite knights at all. I am aware that they mean well, and that most of them have pure intentions. I know their sacrifices and deeds are not just meant to impress others and pander to their own egos. They truly think they are meant to be the hero of the people, that they are special, unique... as if everyone’s fates depended on their actions.”

Andre paused for a moment, perhaps expecting Oscar would look at him. After a moment of fruitless waiting, he continued. “But this is not true, it’s not how the world works, especially not Lordran; so please, do not make the same mistake as those who came before you, Oscar. It will bring you nothing but unnecessary sorrow, and it could make you go Hollow, more than you already are.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” 

Oscar had heard enough. He turned his head towards Andre. He was sick of the blacksmith’s pretentious wisdom; the sooner he demanded a direct answer from him, the quicker he would shut him up.

“Am I meant to just stand still as those around me perish? Am I to admit that nothing I do matters at all? And then what? Do you want me to pat myself on the shoulder afterwards and say _‘it was not my fault, there was nothing I could have done anyway’_? That’s too convenient, isn’t it? It almost sounds like the perfect excuse for those too cowardly to try to make a real change in the world, and would rather rot away in their own meaningless pastimes.”

“You twist my words and try to use them against me. I expected better from you, Oscar.” Andre said.

To Oscar’s surprise, he didn’t sound angry or offended; if anything, he sounded disappointed.

"I never said you were meant to remain idle or that you should give up on your own dreams and ambitions. If helping those in need is your real call, then do it, Oscar. Help your friends, aid those too weak to save themselves, be the guide of the less experienced... do anything that makes you feel like you still have a purpose, but don’t be so vain to think you are responsible for everyone else’s happiness or survival. You already did that with Solaire, and it almost ended up with both of you going Hollow; you out of despair for not being able to keep him alive, and Solaire out of the agony that both his wound and your stubbornness caused him.”

“I was helping my friend!” Oscar exclaimed. “Before we arrived here, Solaire almost went Hollow... it happened not long ago, and he still hadn’t recovered completely from it. That’s why I wanted to keep him alive no matter what. I was afraid that if I allowed him to die again, he wouldn’t be able to—"

Oscar drew a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure. “You make it sound as if I was a monster. As if I had enjoyed watching him suffer or as if my pride was more important than his life... Andre, I could never do that to Solaire or anyone else. I am not that kind of man anymore.”

“Anymore?” Andre asked. He was not being accusatory, only curious, but Oscar still felt as if he was being pointed out for his past deeds at the Asylum.

Oscar did not find the will to continue. He wanted to leave the question forever unanswered.

But to do so would be cowardly.

“I’ve done horrible things, Andre. And I did them to the person that least deserved it.”

He said quietly with a controlled voice.

“And it scares me, because If I dared to hurt an innocent that was only trying to help me, then what kind of man I really was back in Astora? I can’t remember, but I couldn’t have been good. I just couldn’t. Solaire... he believes I’m a good person, but he’s too blinded by my former status as an elite knight to see the truth. You are right, Andre; I’m not a hero... I’m just a pathetic, selfish man that was given a second chance. That’s why, even if I’m not worthy of being an elite knight, I want to be worthy of the sacrifices others have made for me. I want to be a better man. I want to be the man Solaire and the Chosen Undead thought I was.”

“It’s alright, Oscar.” Andre said mercifully. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me. All Undead have a past, and you don’t have to share yours with me if you don’t want to. However, I want you to remember what I’ve told you. Lordran is a merciless place, and we Undead are cursed. Even if Solaire does come back this time, there will come a time when he won’t. Him, you, me, Siegmeyer, and everyone else that has been branded by the Darksign will one day go Hollow... and there’s nothing you can do about it; but it’s not your fault, do you understand? No one’s fortune is your responsibility or your burden to bear.”

Oscar didn’t react, but he did keep Andre’s words inside him.

A brittle silence followed; while it wasn’t uncomfortable, it felt unfinished, like an abruptly stopped conversation.

Andre once again took the matter into his hands and eased the tension between them with the sound of his hammer.

“I disagree.” The blacksmith suddenly commented, just as Oscar was starting to believe there was nothing left to say.

“About what?” Oscar ventured, with the faint hope that a casual conversation could be born from the question.

“About you.” Andre lifted the sword from the anvil; it was an Astoran straight sword, identical to the one Oscar had lost at the Asylum. He gently put it next to the rest of his finished weapons and then placed Oscar’s crest shield on the anvil, assessing the damage and figuring out the best way to restore it. “I don’t know you, that is true; but from what I’ve seen so far, I find it difficult to imagine you were half as bad as you think you were.”

“Like you said, you don’t know me.” Oscar answered, his voice free of animosity.

“I’ve met some awful people in all my time here, Oscar. The worst of scum.” Andre said, polishing the crest shield. “And you’re not one of them. Not at all.”

Oscar nodded at the assertion. He did so to inform Andre he had heard him, not to imply he agreed with him.

Andre replied in the same manner. He was about to return his attention to the shield on the anvil when the sizzling murmur of the bonfire upstairs intensified.

He and Oscar looked up at the same time.

A thump on the wooden floor followed, together with Siegmeyer’s newly awakened and joyful voice.

* * *

“Hmm? Hmm... yes, there’s no doubt about it.” Siegmeyer announced after a long and thoughtful examination. “This shield is indeed half melted!”

Before Solaire could say anything, Siegmeyer handed the shield to him. “Here you go!”

“Thank you.” Solaire grabbed the shield with his now perfectly healed hand. He secured it on his back and smiled back at Siegmeyer.

A foolish gesture, given that his heaume concealed his face from his friend.

“Well, I believe that’s the last of them.” Siegmeyer stretched his back until it cracked. “We’ve already found your helmet, your sword, and your shield... was there something else you left behind, Solaire? Come now, there’s no need to be shy! I swear on my honor as a knight of Catarina that I shall not rest until I have helped you recover all your belongings!”

“No, that was all.”

“Are you sure, Solaire? You sound upset. Hmm... Wait, I know. I was too brusque with your helmet, wasn’t I? Dammit, I knew I shouldn’t have picked it up from its feather! I have failed you, I truly have.”

“Oh dear, I’m not upset or angry about that at all!” Solaire quickly said before Siegmeyer could start with one of his overly exaggerated apologies. “I’m just a bit tired from... you know, having raised from the ashes.”

The incident was nothing short of embarrassing for him, and had it not been for his heaume, Siegmeyer would have seen the flush of blood that turned Solaire’s face crimson.

“Oh, yes. Understandable.” Siegmeyer replied, his voice back to normal, free of any dramatic tone. “Well, in that case, let’s head back. Now that we've retrieved all your equipment, Andre can fix it up for you. He can be quite a stingy bastard with his fares, but his work is worth it. Don’t worry friend, your shield will be as good as new soon.”

He gave Solaire a pat on the back before continuing his way towards the old church. He put his greatsword on his shoulder and began to whistle, completely lost in the calmness of his stroll.

Solaire doubted Siegmeyer would have noticed his absence if he had hadn’t called out for him before he got too far away.

“Wait!”

“Hmm?” Siegmeyer turned around. “Oh... Oh, Solaire!”

He ran towards him, his armor pouncing over his body at his every movement.

“What is it? Can’t you walk? Yes, of course. It’s only natural you’re still exhausted. Being reborn is never easy!” Siegmeyer turned his back to Solaire and knelt in front of him, much to Solaire’s confusion. “Hop on, friend! There’s nothing to be ashamed of. If it makes you feel better, I’ve been carried around like this thousands of times, and not once have I felt embarrassed because of it. I’m not sure my wife and daughter share the sentiment, though...”

“Siegmeyer, I don’t want to go back.”

Solaire spoke before he could regret it or lost the courage to say it out loud. Siegmeyer slowly stood up and faced Solaire, his head slightly tilted, his round helmet touching the plate of his shoulder.

He grabbed his helmet and removed the upper part, exposing his face to Solaire for the first time. Solaire didn’t know how to explain it, but Siegmeyer looked just as he had imagined him.

“Why not?” he inquired, his brushy eyebrows joined in a frown. “Oh, I see. Solaire, I assure you that neither I nor Andre think less of you because of your death! By the Lords, we are all Undead here, aren’t we? We wouldn’t be doing justice to the title if we didn’t die every now and then.”

He laughed, in the same boisterous manner so proper of the people of Catarina. Solaire tried to join him, but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle, not without it sounding exceedingly fake. Siegmeyer eventually calmed down after noticing Solaire’s unchanging mood.

With a more serious tone, he added, “It’s not about that, is it?”

“No, not really. I’m ashamed for having died a death so unnecessary, but it’s not yours or Andre’s judgement which worries me.”

“I find that a bit offensive... but quite understandable at the same time.” Siegmeyer said, putting his greatsword on the floor together with the upper half of his helmet. He folded his arms. “Hmm... does it have to do with Oscar, then?”

Solaire didn’t answer, but his silence was everything Siegmeyer needed to know he was correct.

“Hmm, yes. I can see why you don’t want to meet him again. No wonder you were so eager to leave the church as soon as you were reborn! Oscar is quite the strict and ruthless man, isn’t he? Now, I don’t mean to be unfair to him, but I too would be afraid of his reaction if I were you.”

“Oh, no. He’s not ruthless at all. On the contrary, he is selfless and very understanding, if a bit stubborn. Very stubborn, but he is a good man.”

“A good man can still be strict to a fault; but maybe this is to be expected from an elite knight. Judging by the crest on his shield and tunic, he is one, isn’t he? I must confess I have never been too fond of them. They are so overbearing and relentless. I’m sure they mean well, but— Oh, look at me! Rambling and badmouthing your fellow Astoran! I’m sorry Solaire; my thoughts have a will of their own.”

“You are right.” Solaire agreed, removing his helmet as well. “I don’t have the best of experiences with elite knights either, but Oscar is Oscar.”

“Yes, of course.” Siegmeyer looked down for a second. “Forgive me, Solaire. I should know better than to judge someone’s character for something as irrelevant as their rank. Perhaps I am being too harsh with him. He was a bit out of control, but he was genuinely worried about you, Solaire. I’m glad you managed to find such a loyal a friend in this cruel land... other than me, of course!”

“I am lucky indeed to have found such brave and trusty companions.” Solaire smiled. It wasn’t that he had never appreciated his friends, but it wasn’t until then that he realized how fortunate he had been for having found people like Oscar, Siegmeyer and Andre in a land where people like Patches and Petrus also existed.

“You flatter me!” Siegmeyer said humbly, though Solaire could see how pleased he actually was with the compliment. “In that case, let’s go back! I’m sure Oscar is eager to see—”

“No.” Solaire said, no less affected by the whiplash of his tone. “I can’t go back, Siegmeyer. I cannot go back and face Oscar, not after proving I’m not worthy of his time.”

“What?” Siegmeyer folded his arms again. “Hmm... I can’t say I am understanding what you are trying to say, Solaire. First, you claim you appreciate Oscar as a friend; but then, you say you don’t want to see him again! Because you are not worthy of his time? Such nonsense! Did he ever tell you this?”

“No, but—”

“Did he make you feel that way?”

“No! I mean... perhaps a little, but I know he was just trying to protect me. I see that clearly now.”

“Then? What’s the real reason, Solaire?”

“I’m an idiot, Siegmeyer.” Solaire replied, with an uncharacteristic harshness in his voice that caught Siegmeyer off guard. “That’s the reason why I died! It was mere luck I didn’t drag Oscar together with me. If I had acted like a real knight in the first place and not like some awestruck squire trying to impress a lord, none of this would have happened.”

“Calm down, Solaire.” Siegmeyer spoke with more authority than before. Unlike Oscar’s, his voice was more tender, but not less imposing. “I won’t be able to understand you unless you explain everything to me.”

He sat down on the floor, the same spot where Solaire had been about to be killed by a Hollow. He crossed his legs and spread his arm forward. “Sit with me and tell me everything. Don’t you worry, I won’t’ fall asleep this time.”

Solaire obeyed, greatly relieved and thankful to Siegmeyer for his willingness to hear him out.

He told him everything; from all that had happened in Firelink Shrine to the moment the Hellkite dragon had almost burned them down to ashes.

Siegmeyer listened in silence, and his occasional comments and question were quick and simple, easily answered with a word or two.

Once Solaire was finished, he felt lighter and more focused, but to his chagrin, he realized his reluctance to meet Oscar again had only slightly diminished.

“Hmm, I see.” Siegmeyer put a hand under his chin and pondered for a long time. “So Oscar doesn’t know you’ve lost all your miracles?”

“No. I wanted to tell him before we left Firelink Shrine, but I couldn’t. I did not want to burden him with my problems. I was meant to be his travelling companion, not a dead weight for him.”

“You were careless, Solaire.” Siegmeyer stated.

It was well deserved and fair, but Solaire still felt a deep sting at the pointing of his mistakes. He said nothing and accepted the reprimand with an absolute and respectful silence.

“If Oscar is disappointed in you, it wouldn’t be without reason. Not only did you not let him know of your lack of miracles, but you allowed your enthusiasm to blind you to the lethal dangers of this land... just as it blinded you to the other path you could have taken to reach the parish. The lower passage under the bridge. Had you taken this road, the dragon would not have been able to harm you.”

“What?” Solaire couldn’t stop the question from escaping his lips.

“On the right side of the bridge. A set of stairs. You didn’t see them, did you?”

Solaire’s guilt and shame for his foolishness reached a whole new level. Not only his death and the situation he had put Oscar through had been unnecessary, it had also been completely avoidable.

Did Oscar know this? Had he seen the optional path, but had decided to keep silent about it so that Solaire wouldn’t feel like even more of a fool?

That most probably had been the case. Though strict and authoritative, Oscar was not cruel. It would be a lot like him to keep such details secret from Solaire in order to not make him feel incompetent or downright stupid.

_Is this why he also never said anything about my skills? It’s not that he’s not impressed by them... but rather that he is so utterly embarrassed by my display that he prefers to say nothing at all?_

“And about the fact he has never commented about your skills... that’s not his responsibility, Solaire. Receiving praise is a wonderful thing for a knight, don’t get me wrong, but it shouldn’t be the main reason behind our actions. It’s not a fair thing to do to yourself, either. Do your skills and prowess mean nothing to you unless they are acknowledged by someone else? What about you? Do you really think so little of your own opinion?”

“Oscar... he actually called me an outstanding knight. Sure, it was before he even saw me in a proper fight, but still, he did.” Solaire reminisced.

“And I’m sure he meant it. I doubt he is the kind of man that goes around throwing meaningless compliments to everyone he meets. You have his approval, Solaire. Do you think he would allow you to accompany him otherwise?”

“No.” Solaire replied.

“Then, why—”

“Because no one else had ever said something similar to me before. I never thought I would receive such praise, even less from an elite knight. It felt good, to finally have my skills recognized. And I guess...”

Solaire couldn’t bring himself to finish. It was unnecessary. There was no doubt Siegmeyer had understood.

It was childish, the whole thing. Solaire had always known it, but now that he had recapitulated everything out loud, it was all the more obvious; still, the need for further recognition had also been a natural reaction of his heart.

He was vain, in a way all knights were. Solaire had always thought this aspect of his personality was faint and under his complete control; he never would have thought he could be so easily overcome by it, especially not because of a single compliment.

“I was weak. I let it go to my head.” He admitted to Siegmeyer. “What kind of knight am I?”

“Of the kind that makes mistakes. In other words, you are no different than the rest.” Siegmeyer replied even though Solaire had not expected an answer. “Oh my friend, you are being awfully hard on yourself! Yes, you were careless, immature even, but that doesn’t mean you’ve failed as a knight. Just be sure to learn from this and do better next time. It really is that simple.”

“If that’s the case, then why I have not improved after all the mistakes I’ve made?” Solaire asked, his eyes fixed on the floor. “If what you say was really so simple, then I would be the most lethal and skilled of knights by now.”

“I said it was simple, not that it was easy. And again, I think you are being unfair to yourself. If you truly had never gotten better or learned from your previous failures, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Siegmeyer patted Solaire’s head. The gesture made him feel like a child being comforted by his father.

“Keep your mistakes in mind, not as mementos of your failures, but as reminders of how you can do better. I’m sure you already know all this. You are, after all, a full-fledged knight, and a Warrior of Sunlight too! You merely were in need of some chiding... as we all are, from time to time, and I’m no exception. My wife and daughter would agree on this, I’m sure.”

Siegmeyer laughed again. This time, Solaire joined him, only with a subtle chuckle that was easily drowned by the other’s cackle, but that was still genuine and heartfelt

“So,” Siegmeyer said as soon as his laughter ceased. He put the upper half of his helmet on and picked up his greatsword. He stood up and offered his hand to Solaire, “are you ready to go back now? Andre is eager to meet you.”

Slowly, Solaire raised his hand towards Siegmeyer’s. The Catarina knight grabbed his hand before Solaire could hesitate and helped him up.

“And I know Oscar is waiting for you too.”

* * *

The battle was over. The headless demon had been a greater challenge than Oscar had expected, but he had come out victorious.

Yet, for some reason, his victory felt empty and unfulfilling.

He swung his new Astoran straight sword to clean it off from the demon’s disgusting grime. Andre had done a marvelous work. The weapon was light, its edges sharp and strong. It was lethal despite its unimpressive appearance.

It had not been easy for Oscar to convince the blacksmith to allow him to take the sword, but in the end, Andre had agreed to it, but only under the condition that Oscar would also take a shield with him, even if it wasn’t his trusted crest shield.

It was a small condition; one Oscar had no problem in conceding. He had picked a sturdy wooden shield; then, he had gone to face the headless demon in the hall just in front of Andre’s workshop. Though the blacksmith had opposed the idea at first, he had eventually allowed Oscar to do as he wished.

Perhaps he had concluded that keeping a restless Oscar sitting in one place against his will for too long was far more counterproductive than letting him blow off some steam in battle.

Or maybe he had just gotten sick of Oscar’s headstrong manners.

Oscar wasn’t sure, and at that moment, he didn’t care.

He had thought everything would seem clearer after the thrill of battle, but he felt no less flustered and frustrated than before. His mind had found little peace in the defeat of the monster.

Instead, all his thoughts were still fixed in how much Solaire’s reaction had upset him.

After his revival, he had not wished to see Oscar again. Siegmeyer had tried to soften the matter, claiming that Solaire was quite worried about his lost equipment, and that he wanted to retrieve it before he did anything else.

A sensible choice, one that would have deceived Oscar if he didn’t’ know Solaire so well.

It was painfully obvious to Oscar that it was all only an excuse to prolong their meeting. It was also a confirmation of his fears.

Solaire deeply resented him.

Oscar couldn’t blame him.

He had treated him as his squire, not as his fellow knight; and what was worse, he had forced him to endure an excruciating amount pain for far longer than necessary.

It had been only because of Solaire’s strength of will that he had been able to keep the Hollowing at bay. Oscar had not helped the situation in any way; on the contrary, he had unnecessarily complicated everything.

In his blind need to keep Solaire safe, he had almost made him lose his mind to the pain.

Andre was right about everything. Oscar could finally accept it now.

He felt humbled, and for a moment, humiliated, but the latter sentiment quickly faded from his heart; Oscar only wished Solaire would grant him the chance to apologize.

He looked at the dead creature before it faded away into nothingness. It left behind a piece of titanite. Oscar picked it up and wondered if it could serve as a peace offering for Solaire.

_I cannot stay here and just wait for him._

Oscar put away the rare material on his bag.

_I have to go to him and apologize. I have to take this matter into my own hands... and accept the consequences. If I can’t face my friend, how can I expect to confront the dangers of this land?_

It was settled.

Oscar took a deep breath and slowly exhaled it. 

Strange, how he was far more nervous about reuniting with Solaire than he had ever been during his battle against the faceless demon.

He had just regained a sense of peace when the echo of the steps behind reached him.

“Alright, alright.” Oscar said, mentally rolling his eyes. “I’ll go back now, Andre. You don’t have to drag me there yourself. One time was enough.”

“Oh, well... yes, I can see where you're coming from, Oscar. I too would not like Andre to carry me around like a sack of seeds. With those arms of his, I’d be scared he’d snapped me in half by accident.”

Oscar felt as if all his insides were pulled down to the floor. He turned around, and Solaire greeted him with a timid smile. He was playing with his hands, rubbing them endlessly.

“But he’s not a bad guy at all, is he? And he’s from Astora too! What are the odds?”

Solare laughed under his breath. Not unaware of how uncomfortable his friend was feeling, Oscar forced himself to smile. Once a new silence started to brew between them, Oscar decided to keep the conversation alive.

“Did you manage to find all your equipment?”

“Yes. Siegmeyer helped me. Andre is repairing it right now. He said my sword and heaume are easy work... my shield, on the other hand, will take a bit more of time. He also said such work wouldn’t be cheap; but that’s alright. I have enough souls to pay him.”

“He’s not the most generous of blacksmiths, is he? With his fares, one would think he crafts his weapons for the gods themselves. Perhaps we should persuade him to give us a special discount exclusive to Astorans.”

“That sounds tempting, but it wouldn’t be fair for Siegmeyer, would it?”

“Well, what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

“Oscar!”

“Alright, alright. We’ll pay him like the honest and rightful Undead we are.”

A shared laughter. Gentle, brief, but also calming.

It was Solaire who spoke again, and Oscar could guess by his expression what he intended to say.

Oscar thought for a second of stopping him, and to tell him that he had no need at all to apologize.

He couldn’t.

He didn’t blame Solaire, but neither he considered fair to deny him the chance to express his regrets.

Oscar would not have liked it if Solaire had played that same card on him; he would have felt as if he was being patronized, not understood.

Solaire was a knight, in no way inferior to him, regardless of the ranks they had been assigned back in Astora. It was about time Oscar treated him as such.

He would hear him out, respectfully and in silence, and only after Solaire had finished would Oscar proceed with his own apology.

Solaire began to talk.

At first, Oscar worried about the outcome that would result from their conversation, but he vanished that fear.

He could only hope it would all turn out fine.

He believed it would.

* * *

“Are they ready?”

“Aye. An Astoran armor and crest shield, just like those worn and wielded by the elite knights of old.”

“Marvelous work. Your craft is impeccable, worth every soul you demand for it.”

She spread her arms and waited for the old blacksmith to handed over to her the equipment. The man however, stood idly by, staring at the armor and the shield with a wistful look in his eyes.

“Is something the matter?”

“No... I’m fine. Forgive me, lady.” The blacksmith gave her the garments and the shield. He wiped a tear off his eyes with the blackened thumb of his glove. “I was merely remembering a friend I met long ago, that’s all.”

"Do not be ashamed of your feelings. A prominent sentimentality was, after all, one of Astora's most laudable traits, for both the nation itself and its people. It should not be a source of shame, especially not for a native Astoran such as you, master Andre."

She left before the blacksmith could ask her anything, hoping that her words had been of some comfort for the old man.

_A trait born from an abundance of emotion; an affluence of emotion bred by overflowing darkness. A trait that must not be forgotten._

She clutched the armor and the shield to her breast.

_A trait that our chosen has a sharp affinity for._


	19. A bell tolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! How are you doing?
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to Mrs Littletall, inedible and sabatons for the comments! 
> 
> I hope you enjoye the chapter!

“Link… the fire.”

“What are you saying, little Hollow?”

“Gwyn’s fire... I... must link it.”

“How do you know about that? Who told you about it? Was it Frampt? No, it cannot be. That traitor has been sleeping for far too long. The only legacy he left behind before his slumber was that fraudulent prophecy... but it does not mention the linking of the fire. “

Kaathe rubbed his head against the puny being.

“Who was it, little Hollow? You can tell me.”

The restless Hollow shuddered at the contact at first, but the soothing effects did not take long to appear.

_Pathetic creature. Are you so deprived of tenderness that you would find comfort in and old snake such as me? Did no one in life showed you affection? Were you really so miserable?_

“I promised him.” The Hollow answered, caressing Kaathe’s brow with their only hand. “Oscar.”

“Ah, so it was your beloved Astoran elite knight. I should have known.” Kaathe lifted his head, leaving the Hollow cozily resting in the wraps of his neck. “But how was he aware of this?”

Kaathe’s meditative growl resonated across the abyss. 

He had not thought much of the knight. Kaathe was fully aware of how powerful his memory was for the Hollow, but he had not considered that the knight himself was anything remarkable. 

Not until then.

As if sensing his need for an answer, Frampt offered him another taste of his blabbering sleep-talk.

“Link Gwyn’s fire.” Frampt sung amidst dreams. “Chosen Undead, ring the bell.... Link Gwyn’s fire.”

“Link Gwyn’s fire.” The Hollow echoed in harmony with the primordial serpent.

“Ah... so that’s how it happened. I should have known.” Kaathe’s disappointment was overwhelming, though it was proper of Frampt to make such a stupid mistake. “You should have learned to keep your mouth silent while you sleep, Frampt. I can only wonder how many of your sad potential Chosen Ones you’ve driven to insanity with your ethereal whispers.”

_Still... why did it not drive you mad, Astoran?_

Kaathe, unconsciously, wrapped the Hollow in a tighter embrace.

_How could you listen to the whispers of a primordial serpent and not lose your mind in the process?_

“Oscar, elite knight of Astora.” Kaathe mused to the everlasting darkness. He felt the rush of peace the mere mention of the name sent through the Hollow’s body. “Had fate unfolded in a different way... could you have become the Dark Lord that I for so long have waited?”

Kaathe played with the possibility, but only for a moment.

He had a sentient Hollow in his hold, the descendant of the Fourth Lord. The creature had achieved nothing in life and had no outstanding abilities other than their immunity to the madness cause by the Hollowing.

Yet, there was potential in them, no matter how hidden.

Rightly guided, the Hollow may prove to be a greater asset than Kaathe himself could even foresee.

“You are not my Dark Lord.” Kaathe muttered to the Hollow, lowering his head to their level. “But you could be. And you will.”

The ringing of a bell, intrusive and deafening, infiltrated the Abyss. It shattered Kaathe’s undisturbed peace and made him lose his hold on the Hollow. He caught them with his teeth and returned them to the safety of his mouth before they drifted too far away and became forever lost in the unending darkness.

The Hollow said something, as did Frampt.

They spoke it in unison, neither aware of how much the phrase disgusted Kaathe.

“Link Gwyn’s fire.”

* * *

“Now!” Oscar gave the order just as the gargoyle was about to breathe a wave of fire.

He aimed his straight sword at the monster’s throat. The blade cut through stone and fur, forcing the gargoyle to choke on its own not-expelled heat. The wound was crippling, but not deathly, just as Oscar had expected.

The gargoyle tried to counterattack by impaling Oscar’s chest with its giant halberd. Oscar did not panic, for he knew the attack would never reach him.

He knew Solaire would do his part and do it well.

His friend did not disappoint him. 

The gargoyle cried out an agonizing and deafening shriek as its arm and halberd fell to the floor, severed cleanly from its body with a single slash of Solaire’s sunlight sword.

With both of its attacking methods neutralized, all that was needed was the killing blow. It was then that Oscar began to doubt the success of his strategy, not because it was intrinsically flawed, rather because he did not trust the man he had put in charge of the final maneuver.

The man from Carim, the prisoner Solaire had freed.

Solaire had trusted him instantly, but Oscar had yet to feel comfortable in the presence of the Carim knight.

Lautrec had given Oscar no real reasons to earn his distrust.

He had remained willingly by their side, even when running away back to the safety of Firelink Shrine would have been the smartest option.

He was reserved, mysterious even, but he had treated Oscar and Solaire with the respect and camaraderie expected among knights of all nations.

And he was a skilled warrior, a valuable fighting partner that had made their journey through the unexplored parts of the parish more bearable.

And yet, Oscar couldn’t trust him.

“Lautrec!” Oscar exclaimed suddenly, feeling how the gargoyle was trying to free itself from the sword stuck in its throat.

Oscar did not want to think of what would happen if it managed to break free.

Though nowhere as lethal as that of a dragon’s, a gargoyle’s fire was not to be underestimated. Oscar had managed to keep the creature and its long-defeated partner from spitting fire at them, but now, Lautrec was about to make all his efforts go to waste with his inactivity.

“Oscar!” Solaire tried to attack the gargoyle again, but the monster kicked him out of the way and sent him flying.

Oscar could only see how Solaire made a precipitated attempt to parry the attack and failed.

The gargoyle moved after Solaire’s unsuccessful attack, hiding with its body whatever fate had fallen upon Solaire.

There was no time for Oscar to rationalize his fury. He could only feel it, burning inside him and turning his sight red.

He hated the creature, but not as much as he hated the cowardly and treacherous Carim knight.

“Curse you!” Oscar hissed, holding the straight sword with a hand, and jolting the other directly towards the handle of the coiled sword on his belt.

“Perfect!” Lautrec cried victoriously from behind the gargoyle. The scratchy murmur of his shotel swords slashing the monster’s rocky back filled Oscar’s ears.

The gargoyle gasped a hoarse and frothy breath. The fire in its throat finally faded from existence. The entirety of its colossal weight rested too abruptly on Oscar’s arm, and he barely had time to free his sword from the corpse and jump out of its way before it crushed him.

The gargoyle hit the ground like a fallen idol, the echo of its collapse being the last thing it ever offered to the world before fading away into nothingness.

“At last. Took you long enough to get that thing into place.” Lautrec snapped at Oscar. He looked at him, his face concealed underneath the golden plates of his helmet, but even so, Oscar swore he could see his mocking glare and satisfied grin.

There was no time to get aggravated by senseless taunts. Completely ignoring Lautrec’s extended hand, Oscar got up on his own and went directly to the spot where Solaire should have landed after the gargoyle’s attack.

Oscar found his shield and sword, but there was no trace of Solaire.

He kept his fears at bay and immediately inspected the edge of the roof. His patience was rewarded, and he found Solaire hanging from a tile with one hand.

“Solaire!” Oscar immediately held Solaire’s hand before his fingers could slip an inch more. “I’ve got you. Hang on!”

Solaire, though surely overcome with vertigo, instantly reacted to Oscar’s aid and began to pull his body upwards.

“A knight of Carim saving two Astorans.” Lautrec said after clicking his tongue. Oscar looked at him from the corner of his eye. He was kneeling next to him, catching Solaire’s other hand as soon as possible and helping him back up to the roof. With his help, Solaire made it back to the surface in one piece. “Given the history between our nations, it’s not the most likely of scenarios, eh? Yet, here we are. I guess Lordran really is a place where anything can happen.”

He laughed.

Oscar paid no attention to him, and instead focused on making sure Solaire was alright. He was injured, but only with the expected wounds of battle; nothing some Estus wouldn’t heal.

When he felt Oscar’s stare on him, Solaire removed his helmet.

“We did it.” Solaire said, putting a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “Oscar, we did it!”

“Is he always like this, or did the gargoyle hit him hard in the head?” Lautrec asked.

His only answer was one of Solaire’s arms around his neck. Oscar shared the same fate, and before either could protest, Solaire had already trapped them both in an embrace.

“My friends... we are victorious!” Solaire laughed. “This is the true power of camaraderie! A might only achievable through jolly cooperation!”

Unlike Lautrec, Oscar found satisfaction in Solaire’s enthusiasm and he reciprocated the gesture. If Solaire noticed Lautrec’s insistent attempts to break free from his grasp, he either didn’t care or was too absorbed in their moment of shared victory.

When he finally let them go, Lautrec pulled himself away from Solaire with so much impetus that he hit the floor with his back. Visible embarrassed by the whole display, Lautrec immediately got up.

“Apologies by my more than obvious lack of spirit about this whole celebration,” he said, dusting off his armor, “but we Carim knights do not share Astora’s tendency for these... sugary demonstrations of affection. In fact, we find the whole thing rather improper. How about we keep this heartwarming moment of collaboration between us a secret? Surely your Astoran hearts can’t deny a friend this small kindness.”

“Oh dear... I didn’t make things awkward, did I?”

“Don’t worry about it, Solaire. Cultural differences between kingdoms are always bound to create some tension among commoners and knights. I know you meant well.” Lautrec took a step forwards and offered his hands to Oscar and Solaire. “And I must say... you both left me with quite a good impression. Yes, it seems the rumors are true; Astoran knights are as deathly as they are sensitive. I’m glad I’m on your good side.”

“And I’m glad all I’ve heard about the knights of Carim is wrong.” Solaire added, readily accepting Lautrec’s help. “You’re not cruel or untrustworthy, Lautrec.”

“Well, what can I say? There’s much more to a person than his homeland and rank.” Lautrec said, moving his head directly towards Oscar. “Don’t you agree?”

They kept staring at each other for a moment, their eyes equally concealed by their respective helmets.

Andre had crafted for Oscar a replica of the elite knight helmet. Oscar had been most grateful for the blacksmith for his thoughtfulness.

While Oscar had missed the protection it offered, what he had truly longed for was the privacy that only a helmet could offer.

He no longer had to fear his face would scare other Undead; and what was better, he needn’t worry anymore about how his expressions could betray his every feeling and thought.

In the company of friends like Solaire, Oscar knew he could dispose of the helmet without worries; but in the presence of strangers, he knew it was best to keep it always on.

Lautrec fitted in the latter category.

The knight of Carim couldn’t see the ingrained suspicion in Oscar’s eyes as he finally accepted his help.

A part of Oscar wished he could trust Lautrec as blindly as Solaire did, but Oscar still couldn’t find it in his heart to do so.

Whether it was the result of his sharp intuition or merely a misjudgment born from a past prejudice, he did not know, nor did he dwell on it.

“Well, it’s been an honor fighting by your side." Lautrec said, making a small bow. “But this is where we part ways. I have a duty to fulfill, and I must tend to it right away. I thank you again for rescuing me from that cell... I don’t know what would have become of me if you had left me to my fate.”

“Don’t think about it. What matters now is that you are free, friend.” Solaire replied. He snapped his fingers and searched inside his bag. “Oh, I almost forgot. Here, take this.”

He gave Lautrec a small golden medal. Lautrec accepted it, but not without a silence that demanded an explanation.

“It’s a tradition among Warriors of Sunlight.” Solaire said. “To give these to the knights and warriors with whom we share a great victory.”

“Is that so?” Lautrec said, moving his head towards Oscar again.

Oscar replied by taking an identical medal out of his bag, the same Solaire had gifted to him after their victory against the Taurus Demon, while also accepting a new medal for their most recent success.

“How interesting.” Lautrec nodded and continued inspecting the medal. “And what exactly does it do?”

“You offer them to the Lord of Sunlight at one of his altars. Of course, you’ll have to become a Warrior of Sunlight first for it to work.”

“Very useful indeed.”

At first, Oscar thought Lautrec would toss away the medal into the distance with disdain, but he was pleasantly surprised to see him actually accepting Solaire’s gift.

“I appreciate it, I really do. Well, now I must depart. Take care, friends. I’ll be staying at Firelink Shrine for a while; be sure to look for me whenever you’re around.”

“We will.” Solaire said immediately, a wide smile on his face.

Lautrec gave them a last wave of his hand before he went to the entrance that gave access to the parish.

“Thank you.” Oscar said before Lautrec was gone. “For all your help.”

Lautrec did not stop walking. Oscar thought he had not heard him or had outrightly ignored him, and given how he had treated him, the latter seemed like the most likely option.

“How strange it is, to hear such kind words being spoken by a voice as awful as yours.” Lautrec sneered without turning around. “You are welcome, Oscar.”

Lautrec said nothing else, and neither did Oscar nor Solaire.

Once he was gone, Oscar felt Solaire’s arm resting around his shoulders.

“You did well, my friend. We Astorans have never been in the best of terms with Carim, but we shouldn’t burden ourselves with past prejudices and resentments. I know it was not easy for you, so I’m glad you gave Lautrec a chance.”

Was that truly the reason of his mistrust after all?

Had Oscar only been reacting to an old animosity from his past life?

The possibility was not farfetched, no matter how much Oscar wanted to believe his caution had originated from his intuition instead.

“Do you really think we can trust him, Solaire?”

“I do. Everyone deserves a chance to show their true character before we thrust our judgement upon them.” Solaire removed his arm and looked down at the floor. “You find this naïve... don’t worry, Oscar. I know how childish all of this sounds.”

“It’s not naïve or childish.” Oscar removed his own helmet and smiled at Solaire. “You are right, Solaire. And if you trust Lautrec, then so will I. You know, at times like this, I start to think you are much wiser than me.”

“Oh, no. No!” Solaire stuttered as he scratched an ear. “I’m just—”

“Why are you turning red?” Oscar said, not able to resists the taunt. “Is the sunlight too strong for you up here?”

“Of course not! We Warriors of Sunlight thrive under the power of the sun!” Solaire quickly put on his helmet again and gestured the famous praising position proper of the members of his covenant. “I do not fear the sun, I praise the sun! Come, praise it together with me, Oscar!”

“I...” Oscar thought fervently of denying the offer, but he felt he owed it to Solaire after the little jab he had thrown at him.

Glad that there were no witnesses around, Oscar stood next to Solaire and joined him in his praising.

It was now his turn to turn red.

“Ah, I had almost forgotten the clarirty of mind some praising gives to the mind.” Solaire sighed after a long moment had passed. “Do you not feel rejuvenated as well, Oscar? The power of the sun does not work only for members of the covenant, after all.”

“Yes.” Oscar answered, feeling no real change in his body or spirit other than the warmth the ray lights had left behind on his armor. “It’s a shame it was all so brief.”

“Don’t you worry, we can praise the sun for as long as you—”

“How about we leave that for later?” Oscar quickly suggested. “I would rather we focused on the matters that are now at hand.”

“Oh, of course!” Solaire agreed, putting down his arms. “Sorry, I can get a bit carried away at times. You’re right... at the moment, there’s something much more important for you to do, my friend.”

They looked at the bell, standing tall at the top of the tower, safely guarded behind columns of stone. To Oscar, it all felt like an illusion, a dream from which he would wake up at any moment. The magnitude of his reality had not settled until that moment; it weighed him down and kept his feet glued to the tiles of the roof.

He clenched his hands, if only to keep his fingers from trembling. His heartbeat quickened to the point where his pulse became painful.

_I’m here._

Oscar considered putting his helmet back on to keep his expression concealed from Solaire, but the act would be too unnatural and suspicious to trick anyone.

_I really am._

“Are you alright?” Solaire asked him. “Oscar?”

“Yes.” Oscar managed to keep the tears at bay. It was not that crying in front of Solaire would shame him, but to shed tears without a clear reason felt too foolish. “I’m just a little overwhelmed. To be standing here, after all that’s happened... it makes me feel like I’m not worthy of this, as if none of this was ever mine to achieve; and yet, here I am.”

“And you deserve it.” Solaire’s hand was back on his shoulder. “You’ve earned it. You did not steal it from anybody and neither it’s something fate threw freely at you. I know there are plenty of doubts still lingering in your heart, but please believe me when I tell you that you are worthy of being here, Oscar.”

“That’s the strange thing.” Oscar confessed, looking at Solaire, who had again removed his helmet. “Despite everything, I also think this fate is mine to claim. My heart is divided. It doesn’t let me forget my faults nor it lets me forgive myself; yet, it swells with pride at how close I am to starting the fate I always coveted for myself. Solaire, it’s not that I’m not happy to be here nor that I still wish I had Hollowed at the Asylum. To be honest, nothing compares to the joy I’m feeling right now. It’s just that...”

He knew what he meant to say next. Oscar had long learned that knowing what to say was seldom the problem; it was the _how_ which always proved to be an obstacle.

“Is it alright?” he finished before he got tangled in the webs of indecision. He looked away from Solaire’s kindly gaze. “Do I have the right to find pride in my actions? Is it alright for me to be contented with my fate, even after all I’ve done? Is it alright, Solaire?”

“It is.” Solaire answered, resting his other hand on Oscar’s free shoulder. “It is, Oscar. It truly is.”

Oscar kept his eyes fixed on the bell, and he only made contact with Solaire once he was sure he would be able to keep his composure. He nodded at his friend and held one of his arms.

Solaire gave Oscar a soft smile before letting him go. He did not insist further on the subject, and Oscar was grateful to him for it.

“Are you ready?” Solaire ventured after a moment of repose. “Take all the time you need, Oscar. The bell is not going anywhere.”

“That would be awfully inconvenient.” Oscar commented dryly but not without good humor. He took a deep breath one last time before putting his helmet back on. Then, he sheathed his straight sword on his belt and secured his crest shield on his back. “Let’s go.”

“Go ahead, my friend. I’ll be waiting for you here.”

“What?”

“The prophecy says only one Undead will ring the bell, doesn’t it? It would be foolish for us to put everything at risk with my interference. Now, now, I can endure a moment of solitude just fine! I’m more used to it than you believe. Oh dear, that didn’t sound too pathetic, did it?” Solaire laughed as he put his own helmet back on and looked at the distant sun. “This is a fine place for a moment of praising. I think I shall continue with it in the meantime. I would not want the Lord of Sunlight to think I have become negligent in my duties as his warrior!”

“Solaire...”

“I will be fine, Oscar.” Solaire told him with a soft voice. “Ring the bell. Once you’re done, I will be here to meet you again so we can continue our journey.”

He turned his back to Oscar and spread his arms up in the praising gesture.

Warriors of Sunlight were similar to the knights of Catarina in how much mockery they received from other knights. Their skills were widely respected, and it was foolish to ignite their anger, but that didn’t stop others from ridiculing them because of their quirks.

Onion knights and sun-praising maniacs.

Oscar had always found both titles tasteless and disrespectful; this he remembered clearly, and he was glad of it, though that hadn’t stopped him from considering both the Catarina armor set and the praising gesture of the Sunlight covenant ridiculous beyond belief.

Despite its many advantages, he would never consider wearing the Catarina armor set, and had it not been for Solaire, he doubted he would have ever praised the sun at all.

But at that moment, when he looked at Solaire so deeply immersed in his praising, Oscar did not find him ridiculous at all. There was nothing foolish nor laughable in the sight of a knight fulfilling his duty with such earnest devotion.

It was admirable. 

Oscar could only wish he had half the dedication and passion Solaire exhibited so naturally.

“Go, my friend.” Solaire told Oscar. He wasn't urging him; he was encouraging him. “Your fate is waiting for you just at the top of that tower.”

* * *

“Hmm...”

“Siegmeyer, you’re moping again.”

“Hmm? Oh! I’m so sorry, I can’t stop thinking about those lads. Do you really think they will be fine, Andre?”

“I don’t see why they shouldn’t be. I made sure to leave their armor and weapons in optimal condition; trust me, they could endure the power of a giant without breaking. And the small toolboxes I gifted to both of them should help them keep their equipment in good state.”

“But will that be enough? Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I doubt their skills. Oscar is an elite knight and Solaire is a Warrior of Sunlight, and I’m sure both of their ranks are well earned... but I worry about them still.”

“Of course you do. After all, you onion knights are prone to be protective of others, even of those who mock you.”

“How dare you? Were you not my friend, I would make you pay dearly for insulting my honor as a knight of Catarina!”

“Yes, yes, keep talking.”

“Enough of your insolence! Now we fight! Astora and Catarina are allies no longer!”

Andre took a sip of his pint as he watched how Siegmeyer made a failed attempt at standing up.

Siegmeyer fell to his back and trashed his arms around in an imaginary fight, all while cursing at his poor balance.

“Curses, I have been defeated!” Siegmeyer lamented once he managed to straighten his back again. “Take my life then, Andre, and allow me to die with honor.”

“Yes.” Andre laughed, taking Siegmeyer’s pint away from his hand. “I think you’ve had enough Siegbräu for now.”

“You’re no fun at all, old man.”

“Old man? You... you dare? I mean it’s true, but— Oh, why do I bother? You’re too drunk to even remember my words for more than five seconds. I’ll be sure to let you know what I think of you once you’ve sobered up.”

“You sounded just like my beloved wife. You remind me of her.”

“Hey, it’s not proper of a knight to insult a lady in such manner, even less if said lady is one’s wife!”

“Oscar and Solaire. They reminded me of my daughter too. My dear and brave Sieglinde. She is not cursed, but... It’s one thing for an old fool like me to be branded by the Darksign, but to know the curse can affect them as well—”

“Such is the Undead curse, my friend. We cannot keep the young ones safe from it... but we can help them by being there for them, and guiding them in any way we can. They are not innocent children, they are knights; capable of much more than we can imagine. I’m sure of it.”

Siegmeyer hid his eyes behind his hand.

Andre was about to offer more hopeful thoughts to him when the echo of a bell tolling in the distance filled the old church with its song.

* * *

Lady Reah had finally arrived, together with her always loyal companions Vince and Nico.

Petrus received them all with a warm welcome he had spent a long time perfecting.

His smile however, broke apart when the toll of the bell reached his ears, exposing for a moment the disgust and frustration he so desperately always tried to conceal when in presence of Reah and her two buffoons.

_Who is responsible for this intrusion?_

Petrus snarled as he turned his head at the direction of the bell’s tolling.

His frown disappeared and his eyes widened at the answer.

_Astorans... how meddling they are!_

* * *

“I guess he is Oscar no more. I think I should call him Chosen One from now on.”

Lautrec said, tossing the sunlight medal into the air. He caught it and looked at the fire keeper, his grin exposed by his lack of a helmet.

“Don’t you agree?”

The fire keeper gave him no answer.

* * *

“You deserve to follow your own fate.”

Solaire did not stop his praising, not even as the tolling of the bell and his own tears made it almost impossible to concentrate.

“And to discover your own sun, Oscar.”

* * *

The deed was done.

He had rung the bell.

The prophecy and the dream stopped being promises and became his reality.

Oscar had done it.

He had reached a point of not return, he had taken his first real step into the life and destiny he had always believed would be his to claim.

“I did it.” Oscar collapsed on his knees, his hands firmly holding the old lever. The bell continued to toll above his head, its thunderous chimes resonating in his body and soul. “Chosen Undead.”

He began to cry, his sobs muffled by the tolling bell, his face hidden behind his helmet.

His tears were not born from happiness or grief; their origin was not something Oscar could define down to a single term. After a brief moment, he stopped trying to understand his tears and merely allowed them to flow.

The bell slowly returned to its fixed quietness.

Oscar remained in the same place, the same position.

He would go back to Solaire.

He would continue his journey together with his friend.

He would accept his fate and make sure he was worthy of being its bearer.

He would link Gwyn’s fire.

He would succeed and become the man he wanted to be; a man worthy of all the kindness others had showed to him.

All of that Oscar was determined to achieve; but at that moment, he needed to let go of all the pent-up emotions inside him. It was not a gentle process, specially not for someone like him, so used to always doing the opposite, but he let it happen.

“Thank you.” The words came out broken by his sobs and disrupted by his voice. “Thank you so much.”

He repeated them until their sound no longer conveyed any meaning to his ears.

But to his soul, they always did.

* * *

He saw them walking along the path.

A young Hollow and their loyal companion.

The former was puny and feeble, the latter was big and strong.

They were common, vulgar, completely unimpressive.

"Really? Is this the best candidate you could find? By the Lords..." Patches asked himself as he waited for the two travelers to get a little closer. "Well, I'm here to follow orders. I just hope you know what you're doing, Yuria."

He snickered loudly, forcing the two Hollows to notice his presence and acknowledge his existence.

"Good day!" Patches greeted them, his body rigid in a squat. "What are you doing wandering around this dangerous road all by yourselves, so poorly equipped? Are you seeking death? No, of course you aren't! It jumps to the eye you are both of a different sort. I sense great courage in you, such noble determination, but none of that will keep you safe from the attacks of others, will they? The correct answer is... no! Well, lucky you that you happened to crossways with none other than me, Patches! The world-renowned travelling merchant! No, no, please, hold your applause. Oh, but enough about me!"

He sprung back to his feet and jumped directly in front of the smaller of the Hollows, earning a threatening grunt from their brutish companion.

"What is your name, young traveler?" Patches asked to the confused Hollow, extending his hand towards them. "Come now, don’t be shy! I think we can become good friends... if we give each other a chance."

He dedicated to the two Hollows the best of his smiles.

_Oh, right, they are Unkindled now. Oh, who cares? Hollow, Unkindled, Undead... different name, same thing._


	20. The Essence of Transformation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update!
> 
> I hope so many constant updates are not annoying haha... but if they are, you can let me know lol.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to Mrs Littletall for the comment! 
> 
> I guess this chapter pretty much marks the start of the second part of the fic. The CU will be more present during this arc, and many of the other NPCs will be making their appearance! I will try to make this story good and interesting, and I will also try my best to complete it. Thanks so much to everyone who have given this fic a chance :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

“So, it happens again.”

The tolling of the bell still echoed across the abyss.

Frampt’s snoring became a series of confused growls.

Though he couldn’t see him, Kaathe knew his traitorous brethren had sensed it too, no matter how deep in sleep he was.

Strange, how easily they both reacted to the vibrations and chimes of an old bell, as if their mere being were tied to it with an unbreakable chain.

“A meaningless feat.” He scoffed. “The first bell means nothing, for it is the second which has long remained silent and untouched.”

It was during their journey to the second bell where all of Frampt’s potential Chosen Undeads failed. Sometimes they turned back, overwhelmed by fear; at other times, they simply lost interest and gave up on their quest.

Most of the times however, they went Hollow, either after countless deaths or because of the grief and disappointment they found along their travels.

The little Undead that had rung the bell this time would be no different.

Kaathe was sure of it.

Yet, he was also restless, as if a part of him knew that, this time, the pitiful Undead that had fallen for Frampt’s deceit would be successful.

“This could be... problematic.” Kaathe said. The little Hollow inside his mouth had fallen asleep again.

Such a lazy and irreverent fool.

Kaathe felt the flashing need to scold them for their overly carefree nature, but he was too absorbed in thought to really care about correcting his chosen one’s behavior.

“This Undead, the ringer of the bell.” Kaathe mused to himself, as he always did. “Call it an old serpent’s intuition, but... Little Hollow, you know it too, do you not? This Undead. This man.”

“Oscar.” The Hollow whispered not to Kaathe, but to the dear memories that so constantly invaded their mind and filled their soul with overflowing fondness.

“Indeed.” Kaathe said.

Frampt, no longer as deeply affected by his heavy slumber, tried to speak the name as it resonated across the darkness, but his tongue, so used to his senseless blabbering, could only form the name he had so endlessly repeated ever since the foolish king had defied nature and prolonged his decadent age.

“Chosen Undead.”

* * *

“Are you ready?” Oscar asked Solaire.

His fellow knight stood not too far away from him, with his sunlight sword and round shield readily prepared for a fight.

Oscar wielded his crest shield and new straight sword, as decided and bravely as he did when facing an enemy.

“Yes.”

From behind the slit of his heaume, Oscar could see Solaire’s blue eyes gleaming with thrill.

Despite his enthusiasm, Solaire was taking it seriously, and Oscar would not disrespect his diligent disposition.

He would treat him like a worthy opponent.

He would show him no mercy.

“Then let’s begin.”

Solaire did not waste a second and charged at Oscar. The old tiles of the church’s roof were a tricky surface, and one false step could prove lethal, but their battle against the gargoyles had been a good lesson for both Oscar and Solaire on how to keep their pace firm and steady.

Solaire raised his sword, his fist tightly clenched around its handle.

Oscar moved one leg backwards and prepared his shield, readying himself to resist Solaire’s attack.

He calculated his movements, but once the sunlight sword clashed against the shield, Oscar became fully aware of the true magnitude of Solaire’s power.

Solaire had not hold back.

And neither would Oscar.

Despite his impressive display, Solaire’s strength could not defeat Oscar’s technique, and his sunlight sword was effortlessly parried by the blue crest shield.

Stunned and exposed, Solaire could only watch as Oscar plunged a lethal riposte directly towards his chest.

“Wait!” Solaire exclaimed, but Oscar did not stop.

Oscar’s ruthless riposte changed its direction in the last second, and instead of piercing Solaire’s heart, it passed right through the open space right between his arm and body, cutting nothing but air.

Even then, Oscar’s attack did not stop, and he pushed his crest shield against Solaire’s chest and brought him down. Solaire’s back hit the surface with little gentleness, with many of the tiles breaking and shattering under his weight and the pressure Oscar kept putting onto him with his shield.

Oscar’s straight sword stabbed the roof and became stuck in the mixture of broken stone and rotten wood.

“You are dead, Solaire.” Oscar said to his defeated friend, without any sign of sympathy in his voice. “Or you would be, if I was your enemy.”

Oscar freed his sword from the roof and got back on his feet. Solaire let out a cough once the oppressive pressure of the crest shield departed from his body.

Oscar gave him a moment to catch his breath.

“Alright, demonstration time is over.” Oscar offered Solaire his hand. “Now it’s your turn to try to parry my attacks.”

“By the gods, Oscar...” Solaire said, still not quite recovered, accepting Oscar’s aid to get back on his feet.

Oscar recoiled at his tone.

Had he been too strict in his method?

He was not blind to the severity of his teachings, but Oscar knew well that the deadlier the technique being taught, the harsher the teaching process had to be.

It was not only a good way to show how the technique worked in real combat, but it also served as a warning of the dire consequences it could have if not properly learned or performed.

Oscar had asked Solaire to take their friendly sparring session as seriously as a duel to the death. After some hesitation, Solaire had accepted the condition, but it seemed Oscar had taken it too far.

“I’m sorry, Solaire.” Oscar said humbly as Solaire dusted off his tunic from both sides. “It got out of hand. I did not mean to scare you.”

“Scare me? What are you talking about?” Solaire replied with a jolly tone that put Oscar’s regrets to rest. He held his sunlight sword and shield in one hand and removed his heaume with the other.

The smile he gave to Oscar was as full of admiration as his eyes. “Oscar, that was incredible! The way you moved, how you repelled my sword, your riposte... No wonder you were chosen to be part of the elite knights. I’m in awe, I really am.”

“It was nothing special.” Oscar said, unable to repress a flustered laugh as he slowly removed his helmet. “Parrying is a technique that requires practice and diligent training, but it’s also rather intuitive once you’ve become familiar with it. You’ll get the hand of it in no time, I’m sure of it.”

“You have too much faith in me, my friend.” Solaire chuckled with poorly concealed diffidence. “Oscar, I thank you for being so willing to teach me how to parry correctly, but I don’t think I have what it takes to learn this. You have seen how poorly the results are whenever I try to parry our enemies’ attacks during battle... I wouldn’t want to waste your time. My skills are simply not up to par.”

“You sound too awfully convinced about this.” Oscar said, and wondered if he had reopened old wounds in Solaire’s heart.

After ringing the bell, Oscar had taken some time before returning to Solaire. He only did so once his eyes no longer felt sore from his crying and his breathing no longer stuttered in bubbling sobs.

Putting himself back together must have taken much longer than Oscar had considered, for when he made it back to the roof, he no longer found Solaire lost in his enthusiastic praising of the sun.

Instead, at some point, Solaire had started practicing the casting of his miracles. Oscar had watched him from afar for a while, not wanting his presence to break Solaire’s focus. He had only intervened once Solaire had dropped to his knees and punched the roof in frustration, leaving behind a hole in the roof the size of his fist.

Oscar had not been harsh in his judgement of Solaire’s anger, and in spite of how much Solaire tried to hide the amount of chagrin the loss of his miracles caused him, Oscar had noticed his distress ever since the moment Solaire had confessed everything about the subject to him.

Warriors of Sunlight often prided themselves in their mastery of powerful miracles, the Sunlight Spear above all. It was their symbol, their pride; to not be able to cast it was an undeniable blow to their honor, and it could hinder them considerably during battle.

Oscar wished his own talent with miracles was greater so that he could help Solaire, but his true skill laid in the mastery of weapons, especially of swords.

He couldn’t give Solaire his miracles back, but he could teach him a technique that would compensate for his loss and give him an extra edge in combat; a technique many knights praised but not many had the patient to perfect.

He had thought the offer would lift Solaire’s spirits too, and perhaps even restore his bruised faith, which eventually would help him with the recovery of all his miracles.

At first, Oscar had thought he had been correct, as Solaire had immediately become childishly excited at the idea of sparring with him.

But now, it all seemed like a big mistake.

Oscar almost became disheartened by the change of mood, but for Solaire’s sake, he couldn’t allow himself to lose hope.

“Why is that, Solaire?” Oscar asked, gently but firmly. “Why are you so sure you won’t be able to learn how to parry? As I said, it’s a difficult technique, and you won’t master it immediately, but eventually, you will. You need only be patient.”

“Oscar, I’m not being self-pitying or falsely humble.” Solaire looked away, directly at the sun. “I’ve got many years of evidence that confirm I’m not capable of this. I’ve tried, I really have, but I’m terrible at it and... trust me, I’m not the only one who thinks the same.”

Solaire tried to laugh the whole matter off, but Oscar stopped him before he could get away with it.

“Who else agreed with you in this, then? The elite knights back in Astora?”

The question was gelid, and it tore apart Solaire’s feign smile and good mood into shreds. When he looked at Oscar again, he looked baffled and embarrassed.

“Yes.”

The answer took Oscar off guard. He knew he had been correct in his suspicions, but he hadn’t expected Solaire to actually confirm it so firmly.

_How much harm did we elite knights cause to others?_

Oscar thought, his mind equally curious and scaref of the lost memories the Hollowing had taken from him.

_Were we saviors or tyrants?_

“They often said I would never become a worthy knight, but I don’t blame them. What they said was true.” Solaire continued. “I’m not greatly skilled. I have made the most out of my scarce talent with daily training, even when I was never formally instructed, and I think I have managed to become a decent knight on my own right, but I’m not above average, Oscar. I’m not like you. I know my limitations, and—”

“Drop your sword and shield, Solaire.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Oscar replied, doing the same with his own equipment, together with his helmet. “Put your sword and shield down on the floor.”

Solaire, puzzled as he was, did as Oscar told him. After carefully freeing himself of his weapons and helmet, he waited for Oscar’s next command.

Oscar wasted no time and went to Solaire’s side.

“Lift your arms just in front of your face.” Oscar said while also helping Solaire get his arms in the right distance and position. “Just like this. Good.”

“Oscar, what’s going on?”

“You’re going to try to parry my punches.” Oscar explained, getting himself into position. “If you fail to stop my attacks correctly, I’m not going to stop and I’m still going to hit you. If you manage to parry me, then you must counterattack without hesitating, as if you were performing a riposte. Think of your arms as your sword and shield. Let’s begin.”

“Wait.”

Oscar did not, and his fist aimed directly at Solaire’s face. Solaire reacted, but he only managed to divert Oscar’s attack slightly with his forearm. Oscar’s knuckles touched Solaire’s cheek, not with enough force to leave a mark, but it did make him hiss.

“You half blocked my attack, but it still went through. It didn’t do as much harm as it could have, but neither did you have the chance to perform a riposte or keep yourself free of injury.” Oscar said before Solaire had the chance to properly react to what had happened.

“Let’s say I had attacked you with a poisoned weapon; the effects would have been greatly reduced. Likewise, if I had shot an arrow at you, you would have repelled it. This is known as a partial parry. It happens when you react too soon to your opponents’ attacks, either because of a miscalculation on your part, or because you were caught off guard and your first instinct was to parry instead of attacking.”

“I... yes.” Solaire, though at first seemingly upset by Oscar’s sudden lesson, was now carefully listening to his every word. “I see.”

“Some say partial parrying is an imperfect version of the real thing, while others argue it’s a complete technique on its own right. Thankfully, we are knights, not scholars, so we needn’t worry ourselves with these sorts of academic debates without an answer, so just keep in mind the consequences and benefits you’d get by performing it during battle. Now.”

Oscar again grabbed Solaire’s arm, the one he was using as his shield, and pressed his elbow with both of his palms.

“Relax. You’re putting too much tension here. You’ll only get your arm tired without reason and you’ll severely hinder your stamina. Parrying is not all about strength, it’s about precision and timing. Trust your body, Solaire. It will react faithfully to your commands; it is your opponent’s reactions you must be worried about. Let’s give it another try; this time, you’ll have a better chance to watch my movements and calculate your reactions before you try to parry me. Are you ready? “

Solaire nodded. He looked slightly overwhelmed, but Oscar was confident that practice would help make the theory easier to understand.

He threw another punch. Solaire repelled it once more, but the results were no different than his last attempt.

A small bruise began to show on Solaire’s cheek, but he gave no signs of being bothered by it. If anything, the look on his eyes betrayed that any disappointment he was feeling in that moment was because of his null improvement.

“That was awful, wasn’t it?” he asked, scratching the back of his head.

“Forget about all that, Solaire.” Oscar told him sternly. “You are practicing the basics. Good, bad, awful, perfect, none of those terms matter right now. I’m assessing your skills and technique to know where you can improve, I’m not judging them to mock you. Stop worrying about what I may think of you or what those fools told you back in Astora. They hurt you, and I can only imagine how despicable they... we could be, but don’t limit your own potential just because of it.”

“It’s hard to further limit a potential that’s already limited to begin with.”

“Stop. Don’t give me that excuse again. I’m more talented than you; you are deprived of any natural skill. Maybe the gods liked me better when I was born, maybe my blood is more refined, maybe I’m just lucky, maybe it’s because of all those reasons. I’ll agree with you on this, since you seem to believe it with all your heart. So what, Solaire? Even if all this was true, it’s not a good reason for you to not even properly try.”

“I’ve told you, Oscar.” Solaire said, his voice at the edge of exasperation. “I have tried to perfect my parry before. Time after time, but I’ve never been able to make any progress.”

“And just like you’ve said, you’ve never received formal training or lessons. Well, what do you think we’re doing right now?”

Solaire’s expression went blank.

“Oscar.” Solaire put down his arms, his eyes wide open. “Is this the same training you underwent? Is this the training proper of an elite knight?”

“It is.” Oscar replied. “I was wrong, Solaire. The hardest of techniques are not meant to be taught so harshly, they need to be learned step by step. First, we’ll start with your body and reflexes, with no weapons other than our fists; then, we’ll be perfecting the technique with weapons especially made for parrying, such as bucklers and daggers; after that, you’ll have to get used to parrying with your own equipment; all of this you will practice with me. Once you have become used to it in training, you’ll slowly try to implement parrying into your battle style during real confrontations. It’ll take time, but I know you can do this. I mean it, Solaire.”

“But what if I don’t? What if I never get the hang of it? I’m not trying to be pessimistic... but I’m not so naïve as to think that constant effort always leads to success.”

“True, it doesn’t.” Oscar agreed. “Solaire, this is your choice. It’s fine if you don’t want to learn how to parry. We can focus on the recovery of your miracles instead. I’m not an expert when it comes to them, but I’ll do everything in my power to help you. Whatever you choose, we’ll figure it out together, alright? I just—”

Oscar had to bite his tongue to keep the words from flowing.

_I don’t want you to lose more faith in yourself._

He looked at Solaire, who was deep in thought, his arms folded on his chest, his eyes fixed on the floor.

_I don’t want you to go Hollow._

“Teach me, Oscar.”

The answer filled Oscar with relief and pride alike. Solaire touched the bruise on his cheek and smiled.

“I’ll keep trying to make my miracles work again. I’ll find a way to heal my faith and be the true Warrior of Sunlight I’m supposed to be, but I also would be honored if you taught me more about parrying. To learn from an elite knight like you... no, not an elite knight. You are not just an elite knight to me. Nothing would make me happier than to learn from my friend. Even if it means I have to endure small bruises like this one... You are a tough instructor, Oscar.”

“You can deal with it. Besides, you can get your revenge on me anytime, all you need to do is parry one of my attacks and then you can make me pay for my heartless teaching methods. Huh, this could actually be a good motivation to keep you focused, don’t you think?”

“Normally, I would be against such vengeful motivations, as they go against all I stand for; then again.... you did punch me pretty hard.”

“You can always count on me to keep you inspired, Solaire.” Oscar said with a mocking smirk as he took out his Estus flask and poured some of it on a small piece of cloth.

He pressed against Solaire’s cheek, keeping it in place until Solaire raised his own hand to hold it by himself. “Then it’s settled. Well then, let’s practice some more, but not here. Let’s go back to the old church. The room where I slain the faceless demon would be a perfect place to practice. Besides, I’m sure Andre could sell a dagger and a buckler to us... not to a fair price, of course, but unless you know of another blacksmith nearby, he is our only choice.”

“Oh, don’t try to hide it, Oscar! You want to see him again and tell him all about the ringing of the bell, don’t you? You needn’t be so humble about it. After all, what you just did is nothing short of impressive.”

Solaire exclaimed as he picked up all his equipment and covered his head with his trusty heaume.

“I’m happy for you, Oscar.” Solaire put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad I got to meet you, I’m glad our fates became intertwined. This is not how I planned my journey across Lordran to unfold, but now, despite all that’s happened, I wouldn’t want it to be any other way.”

Oscar did not know what to say in return. How he wished he could see the world and accept his own fate with the same openness as Solaire. He made it seem so simple, and had Oscar been a meaner man, he would have felt envious of his friend’s uncomplicated heart.

_But it’s not easy for you, is it? This acceptance is not something you simply feel, it’s an attitude you constantly practice. Daily, dutifully, with all your heart... Solaire, I promise, our training sessions will be nothing compared to this._

“I feel the same, Solaire.” Oscar finally said, putting his helmet back on and retrieving his equipment from the floor. “I really do.”

With that, they were ready to depart from the church’s floor and go back to Andre’s workshop. Though Oscar hadn’t admitted it, a part of him did feel eager to share his moment of glory with the old blacksmith, and with Siegmeyer as well, if the proud Catarina knight still happened to be around the area.

There was satisfaction in the rejoicing of his and Solaire’s victory with others, but there was also comfort in the idea of a small celebration among friends.

Oscar knew it was perhaps too soon to call Siegmeyer and Andre friends, especially after the way he had acted towards them. He had apologized, and they both had forgiven him without a second thought, but he still needed to show them a better side of himself.

A small feeling of impatience burned inside his chest. Suddenly, the idea seemed all the more engaging.

The company of a group of friends, brought together to celebrate their latest victory. Free of tension, free of problems, with nothing but a moment of shared camaraderie, warm food and refreshing brew to share and enjoy together.

Simple pleasures, small pleasures Oscar hadn’t realized how much he truly missed it until that moment, when the shards of his broken memories offered him tiny samples of related memories of his past.

It was ridiculous for an Undead to long for pleasures and luxuries exclusive to the living, but Oscar still did, and he knew Solaire did too. Even if they were no longer alive, they were still human.

His humanity was something Oscar was determined to never allow the Darksign to take away from him, and he would protect that of his friends too _._

_Andre, I know this curse is bound to make Hollows out of all of us... but I refuse to accept it._

Solaire talked to Oscar during their way back to the stairs. Oscar listened to him, and his resolve only grew stronger.

_I will not go Hollow. I will not let Solaire go Hollow. Somehow, I’ll find a way to save all of you. This vow I’ll fulfill, one way or another. Believe in me... I will not disappoint any of you. You have my word._

Solaire made a joke at his own expense, and even that of Lautrec’s. It was an innocent jab, one that still managed to earn a laugh from Oscar.

They were so immersed in their rapport they did not notice a slender figure standing in front of them, right at the entrance that gave access to the church’s stairs.

“Greetings!”

Oscar reacted by instantly preparing his sword for battle, while Solaire lifted his round shield and kept his upper body well-protected against any projectile, be it an arrow or a throwing knife.

“Oh, my apologies, brave knights. I did not mean to startle you. Please, put down your weapons. I assure you, I mean no harm.” The stranger, clad in dark robes, spread his arms in a welcoming gesture that left him in a vulnerable position.

No knight worthy of his honor would attack a man in such state. The stranger, a pardoner judging by his looks, was either too trusting of the morality of Undead knights or had hidden and effective ways to protect himself if things turned sour.

Oscar sheathed his sword. Solaire imitated him, returning his round shield to his side.

“I appreciate it. It soothes my soul to know that noble men still exist across this cursed wasteland.” The pardoner said, keeping his gesture. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Oswald of Carim. Gentle knights, were you the ones who rang the bell? If this is true, then I would be most honored to offer you my services for free. If you are not, then we can part ways... unless one of you is in dire need of absolution, for sins and confessions are my domain, and the preserving of your Humanity is my duty.”

A loud cackle escaped the pardoner.

While free of malice, it was sinister.

Oscar looked at Solaire and wondered if his face was the same as his under his heaume, and if his thoughts of the stranger were perhaps gentler than his own.

Eventually, Solaire acted, and Oscar’s doubts were answered all at once.

* * *

“The bell must toll once more.”

The blind woman reacted to the statement just as Yuria had expected.

Subtle fear, overshadowed by an unyielding sense of obligation that hushed her doubts.

Fire keepers.

Beings both cursed and blessed, trapped in an unrewarding yet vital duty.

Drawers of Humanity, the true eternal watchers of the Abyss.

Yuria respected every single one of them, from the one that was nothing but rotting dust at the pit of the tower, to the breathing woman standing right in front her.

“Why?” She asked the question shyly. Then, with uncharacteristic boldness, she dared to elaborate. “The ashes have already risen from their graves.”

How ignorant that girl was of her fortune. Were she not protected by her title, Yuria would have been more than glad to remind her of the price of her boldness.

“Not all ashes.” Yuria answered, clinging to a damp bulk the fire keeper could not see. “Ring the bell once more. Not now, not yet. There’s something I need to do first, but when I return, you must do it right away.”

The fire keeper opened her mouth, but any words she planned to say remained forever trapped within herself, as it should be. Satisfied with her obidience, Yuria left the shrine.

The fire keeper directed her sightless stare at the echo of her steps, following them until she could hear them no more.


	21. My old self

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I hope everything is going well for everyone in these hard times. Hang in there :)!  
> Thanks to everyone for reading/leaving kudos and to sabatons and Mrs littletall for the comments! 
> 
> I hope you like this chapter.

“Well, look at you! It fits you perfectly.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course I do! What? Do you think I’m flattering you just so you feel persuaded to buy my goods so I can make profit out of my trade? Dear me, how ridiculous!”

The Hollow chuckled as they kept inspecting how the armor looked on their body.

Their silent and bulky companion was no less fascinated by the Astoran executioner armor he had chosen for himself.

They were like a couple of children eagerly playing with their first gifts.

Given these two Hollows’ backgrounds, Patches knew this scenario was most likely true for them both.

It was a pitiful situation, but all too common for Patches to waste any of his sympathy on them.

“It’s one hundred percent original, you know.” He told the Hollow that went by the name of Anri. “A true relic! It belonged to an honorable and brave elite knight of Astora, one I had the pleasure of meeting personally.”

Patches stretched his smile wide to keep it from twitching at the disgust he felt at the memory of Oscar.

He and that idiot Solaire had proven to be more trouble than Patches had signed up for, but now, he had to put his true feelings underneath an amicable facade.

He didn’t want this Anri kid to be scared or put off by an ugly grimace.

If Patches scared them away, Yuria would never let him hear the end of it.

“You met a real elite knight of Astora?” Anri said, removing the helmet and staring at Patches with their mouth agape. Horace, their quiet comrade, only gave out a soft grunt of acknowledgement. “You must be thousands of years old!”

“I’m going to pretend that didn’t offend me, kid... but yes. I come from an age when Astora was not a tragic memory but a living kingdom.”

“By the lords. Horace, can you believe our luck? We are wearing real Astoran armor! Just like we always pretended to do when we were children.”

Anri said while holding their companion’s arm. The smaller of the Hollows was so excited that Patches was surprised they didn’t start jumping around like a puppy. 

Suddenly too self-aware of how ridiculous their childish enthusiasm was making them look, Anri composed themselves. They gave Patches an embarrassed and apologetic smile as they scratched the back of their head.

“Forgive me. I got carried away; I just never thought I’d come across an authentic set of armor from Astora. Horace and I have always admired that kingdom of old. The stories of its elite knights always gave us and the rest of the children of the Undead settlement hope, and—”

Anri’s face, though heavily touched by the Hollowing, still managed to convey a deep expression of longing and sadness.

Horace said nothing, but his silence was all Patches needed to know he was in no less pain than his friend.

“I thank you for allowing us to try out these sets of armor, mister Patches.” Anri said, trying to hand over the helmet. “But I’m afraid we cannot buy them from you. Horace and I have nothing we can give you in exchange. It’s just recently that we both raised from our graves, both of which were pillaged during our slumber. We’ve got nothing of value.”

“Hmm, that is indeed a problem.” Patches sighed as he shrugged his shoulders. “Or it would be a great problem... if I wasn’t gifting them to you.”

“I’m really sorry we made you waste your—what?” Anri was so in awe that the helmet almost slipped from their trembling fingers. “No, how silly of me. I must have heard wrong.”

“You did not, my young costumer.” Patches gave Anri an affectionate pat on the cheek. Horace’s expected menacing growl came immediately after, and Patches made sure to calm him down by resting a hand on his chest. “They are all yours. Free of charge. The swords and the shield too!”

Anri took a step back.

Horace put a hand on their back just in case they were about to pass out. Anri looked at the helmet; they then looked at Patches.

Then, they looked at Horace.

Then, they looked at the helmet again.

Finally, their gaze returned to Patches.

_Such an airhead. Oh Yuria, why would you choose this little fool?_

“What’s the catch?” Anri asked, a small edge of distrust and caution present in their words.

Patches was taken aback by the sudden confrontation, but he did not allow his surprise to show. He kept his face peaceful and his smile wide.

“You know it’s a sad world,” he lamented solemnly, “when even small gestures of kindness are seen with suspicious eyes.”

Anri changed their attitude in a heartbeat; Horace remained somewhat adamant, but Patches did not care about him at all.

“I did not mean to sound ungrateful or aggressive.” Anri apologized with a small bow of their head. “It’s just that this sort of generosity is rare to come by. And to tell you the truth, that’s not the only reason I would not feel comfortable accepting this armor... Horace, you should keep yours, but I’m afraid I’ll still have to refuse the offer.”

“Now, now, this clearly is a subject that needs to be expressed and talked about.” Patches said with convincing empathy. He grabbed one of Anri’s hands and patted it comfortingly, much to the dislike of Horace. “Come on, you can tell old Patches all about it.”

Anri looked uncomfortable at first, but they quickly succumbed to the offer. They did so naively and naturally, and Patches came close to feeling genuinely bad for them.

_Bloody Hollows._

“I’m not worthy of it.” Anri confessed, and Patches suspected that a tear or two would have escaped their eyes if they were not so rotten and dried up by the Hollowing. “If this armor, helmet, sword, and shield were really the property of an elite knight of Astora, then I have no right to own them. It would be an unforgiveable offense for the memory of this brave knight... to have a Hollow such as me to be the successor of his belongings.”

Horace instantly put a hand on Anri’s shoulder and pulled them closer to them, succeeding in both providing comfort to his friend and getting them away from Patches.

“Oh, no. Horace, I’m alright.” Anri soothed the bulky man, as if they could see the nonexistent tears he was shedding behind the helmet. “This does not hurt me at all. I’m merely being honest. I’m not sad, I promise. Cheer up. I may not have earned a new set of armor, but you have! Aren’t we fortunate to have come across such a selfless and kind man?”

_And who the hell said anything about giving this brute the armor for free? It’s either both sets or nothing at all, you small palooka!_

“My dear and confused costumer,” Patches said, pretending to be moved almost to tears, “your judgement about yourself couldn’t be any more inaccurate. Young Anri, in my long existence, I’ve had the privilege of meeting many Astoran knights, and I can assure you that you show many of the qualities they once possessed.”

“Now you’re just being flattering.” Anri replied in an awkward attempt to make Patches stop.

“I’ve known you for a very short time, but even this small moment we have shared together has been enough for me to see in you the virtues and traits that once were so proper of Astorans, especially among the elite knights.”

Patches added more flavor to his discourse with calculated movements of his arms, as if he was a travelling minstrel telling an epic tale.

“You care about your friend with all your heart; you are noble and try to always follow the righteous path. You are honest in your speech, you are brave in your duty as an Unkindled, and you’re honorable too, for you would rather refuse my gift than to disrespect the memory of a knight long dead; and you are sentimental as well. You are no different from the Astoran knights you so admire from the tales of your childhood. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would think you are Astoran yourself. Anri of Astora! It sounds perfect, it sounds natural, it sounds fitting! That’s what your name should be!”

Patches gently took the helmet from Anri’s hand and settled it on their head, and for a moment, Patches felt as if the Hollow in front of him was no one else than Oscar.

_Oh, Yuria. What exactly are you planning to do with this kid? You are a cruel woman... but hey, that’s not my problem!_

“You are worthy, Anri.” Patches told the Hollow, and when he heard a soft and emotional gasp filtering through the helmet, he knew they would resist no more. “Take it all, it’s yours now. I’m sure the elite knight that once wore this armor and wielded this sword and crest shield would think the same.”

* * *

“Have you not any more sins to confess?”

“I’ve already told you no.”

“There’s no need to be so rude, knight. I’m only trying to help you find absolution.”

“Well, so far the only thing you’ve helped me find is my common sense.”

Oscar stopped kneeling before the pardoner.

He had knwon it wouldn’t work.

Pardoners were all charlatans, though he would be lying if a part of him had not hoped that a confession of his sins would have helped him heal his Hollowed face. This particular pardoner, Oswald, had seemed honest enough, and he had successfully brought some peace to Solaire’s soul.

Solaire had confessed his sins to him in private first. Oscar couldn’t stop wondering what kind of sins a man like Solaire could possibly commit, but he had kept this thought private in order to not rest any value to his friend’s confession.

Solaire had remerged from the session with a clearer mind, and he was now able to slightly cast a weak version of his healing miracle. It was a faint light that was barely powerful enough to heal a flesh wound, but it still was an improvement.

After witnessing the benefits, Oscar had decided to give the confession and the pardoner a chance, despite his many doubts and his unyielding skepticism.

Oswald had been respectful to Oscar even after he had removed his helmet and exposed his Hollowed face to him; in exchange, Oscar had shown utter respect to the ritual, and he had tried to be honest in the confession of his sins.

But after three attempts without any results, Oscar had lost all his patience.

It infuriated him that he had fallen for the obvious scam, even more so when he had known of the treachery behind the whole thing from the beginning.

Above all, he felt foolish for having shared his faults and his past with the Chosen Undead with a stranger, whether he was a pardoner or not.

_Idiot. Idiot. Idiot._

Oscar scolded himself as he got up and forcefully grabbed his helmet form the floor, firmly decided to go back to Solaire and tell him they were going back to Andre at once, and that he was not to speak or even look at Oswald again.

“These pitiful displays of childish anger are below an elite knight such as you, wouldn’t you agree?” Oswald said, his spread arms retreating to his chest. “Patience, lad. Sins are seldom easily forgiven, either by the goddess or the offender. Velka is merciful, but her kindness will not reach you if you are so settled on making a victim out of yourself. I suggest you calm down and try once more. Remember, my services are always free for you and your friend, ringer of the bell.”

Oscar had to take a deep breath to keep himself from telling Oswald what he really thought of his sermons and his beloved goddess. He waited for his blood to flow at a gentler rhythm before he turned around and faced the deceitful pardoner.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I will be in need of your services ever again. Farewell.”

“Confessing one’s sins is meaningless if you are not open to forgive yourself first, Oscar.” Oswald said without fear, his fingers joined together in a pretentious gesture that made him look like a wise mentor imparting a lesson. “Don’t you think it’s strange that Solaire found solace in his confession while you find none? Do you really think his sins are any less grave and serious than yours?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well.” Oswald tried to continue with his speech, but he rewarded Oscar with an accepting shrug instead. “You are correct. To be honest, I don’t know if his _faults_ can be called sins in the first place... but I digress. What I’m trying to say is that he was more than willing to open himself to redemption and forgiveness, whether his faults were small or not. You are the opposite, Oscar. You have closed off your heart to Velka and those around you. Keep this up, and the Hollowing inside you will rot your flesh and soul until nothing but a mindless shell remains.”

“Old men around here sure love to give sermons, don’t they?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, just a thought that escaped me.” Oscar, no longer as angry at the old pardoner, decided it was best to part in peaceful and respectful terms.

Oswald may have tricked him, but he had helped Solaire.

That alone was reason enough for Oscar to forgive him.

“It is obvious my services did not meet your expectations.” Oswald said after a heavy sigh. “I sincerely apologize. If you would be so kind to allow me one last chance, I could try and heal your face from the corruption that causes you so much grief.”

_I can live with it._

Oscar thought as Oswald searched inside one of the many hidden pockets in the inner side of his tunic.

_It is my sins what I wish you could take away._

“Here it is!” Oswald announced, holding a small stone with his thumb and index finger. “A gift from none other that Arstor, the earl of Carim. How did it end up in my possession, you ask? Does it matter? It’s not as if he would come all the way to this cursed land to get it back.”

Oswald gave out one of his chilling cackles. Oscar didn’t know if the pardoner was conscious of how sinister he sounded.

“A purging stone.” Oswald proceeded. “It will work as a surrogate and receive the influence of any curse building up inside your body. If the Hollowing is the worst curse of all, then it should help you fight against it. To be perfectly honest, this is nothing more than a theory of mine, but I see no reason why it shouldn’t work, or at the very least, why you shouldn’t give it a try.”

Oscar hesitated, but he ended up accepting the stone.

He inspected it, and his liking for it diminished when the small skull engraved on the surface stared at him with its empty eyeholes.

Skulls were among the most cursed of runes, no matter how powerful and effective the magic they created was.

“What was the main ingredient for its creation?” Oscar asked, though his question was only rhetorical. “A human being?”

Oswald closed his eyes and nodded at the assertion.

“Greatness is not born without great sacrifices. No land knows this better than Carim... but don’t let the traditions of our homelands get in the way of our discussion. Swallow the stone, Oscar, and if my theory is correct, not only will your face and voice return to normal, your very soul could be healed from the Hollowing that afflicts you. And if I’m wrong, nothing bad should happen; you shall remain the same as you are now. You’ve got nothing to lose and so much to gain, if only you are willing to take the chance.”

Oscar hated himself for it, but he considered the offer.

He knew that the stone had been created with unspeakably cruel methods, and that any being that had been sacrificed for its creation had left the world in agony and despair.

Yet, he continued to consider it.

When his heart and mind finally snapped free from the temptation, his fingers shivering at the mere contact of the square stone.

It slipped from his shuddering fingers and hit the floor with an unceremonious thump, breaking into tiny pieces.

The little skull transformed into scattered ash, and soon there was no trace left of it other than small and useless crumbles.

Both Oscar and Oswald stared at the small mess in silence and lifted their heads at the same time.

“I... I didn’t mean to.” Oscar did not know what he could possibly say to make himself look like any less of a fool. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” Oswald said, his smile not wavering in the slightest. “Alas, there goes one of the greatest treasures of Arstor, the earl of Carim. Were I not a pardoner, I would be furious out of my mind right now, but I am a master of forgiveness, absolution and confession.”

Oswald spread his arms and looked up at the roof, as if Velka herself had come down from heavens to listen to her devoted follower.

“As such, I forgive you! I forgive you, sir Oscar of Astora! Brave and righteous elite knight! Ringer of the bell! I forgive you! Let us embrace so that any resentment between us may fade into the wind and be always forgotten! Come to this pardoner’s arms, child!”

“I think I’ve got a better idea.” Oscar replied hastily before the pardoner could even think of coming any closer to him. He searched inside his bag, looking for something to give to the pardoner that could be equal in worth to the stone he had just broken.

There was his Estus flask, of course, but he was not so desperate to repay his offense to the pardoner to give up something so important. Besides, for all he knew, Oswald himself could be not Undead at all, and what use would a living man have for such flask?

He searched with growing impatience in the other bags on his belt, but he found nothing of true worth.

Until he rediscovered it.

Shivers traveled down his spine when his fingers remerged with the ring, the same the thief had given to him in one of his failed attempts to earn his trust.

Oscar had not thought about it since the thief’s death at the hands of Petrus.

“Is something the matter?” Oswald inquired after it became clear the embrace he had demanded would never come. “Oh, what a curious ring you have there. It’s like none I’ve ever seen... but its essence.”

The pardoner approached Oscar, lured by the ring.

“Do you know anything at all about it?” Oscar said, becoming increasingly nervous at Oswald’s bewitched expression.

“Give it to me.” Oswald ordered.

Oscar complied, more than relieved to get rid of the cursed artifact he had carried with him for so long.

After a long moment of inspecting the curious artifact, Oswald removed one of his black and long gloves.

Before Oscar could try to stop him, Oswald fitted the ring in his index finger.

“No!” Oscar exclaimed; a half of his scream drowned in his throat.

Oswald eyes went blank, but he continued grinning, as if caught in an euphoric ecstasy.

“Oswald!” Oscar wasted not a second and he lunged his entire body at the pardoner, desperately trying to remove the ring from his finger before more damage was inflicted on the pardoner, but none of his attempts were successful.

The arms and hands of the pardoner were rigid and completely immobile, as if they were made of stone and not of flesh and bone.

“Yes, it’s just as I suspected!” Oswald announced, almost succeeding in killing Oscar from a heart attack. His arms moved again with complete liberty. “This ring is no different than the cursing stones!”

Oscar fell to the floor, too shocked and confused to think about anything else other than the pardoner’s state of mind.

Had the ring made him go insane?

His suspicions grew stronger when Oswald looked at him with a deranged grin that made him look like an executioner instead of a pardoner. With an agility that Oscar thought impossible from a man of his age, Oswald seized his arm and freed it from its glove.

Oscar tried to break free, but the pardoner was not only nimble, he was also abnormally strong.

Was he truly a pardoner at all, or some demented criminal that liked to play with his victims?

With one single swing of his hand, Oswald put the ringon Oscar’s finger, skinning his knuckle in the process. Oscar grunted in pain, but he managed to push the pardoner away with a kick directed at his belly.

Oswald gave no signs of feeling the impact, and he kept on smiling even as his body was forced to pull back.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Oscar snapped at the crazy old man.

His mouth dried up and his heart sunk to the floor at the sound of his voice.

The ugliness and monstrous undertone that had plagued him since his awakening at the Asylum was gone.

Oscar no longer sounded like a demon shaped in the form of a man.

His voice was his own again.

Deep, smooth.

Normal.

One of his hands sprung to his throat, and his disbelief multiplied when he felt only soft skin, both from his fingers and neck.

Trembling and feeling weak with disbelief, Oscar removed the hand with the ring from his throat and lifted it in front of his eyes.

A normal hand, with no traces of Hollowing on it.

_Does this mean—_

He touched the corrupted half of his face, and discovered it was corrupted no more.

He fell to his knees, his mind still unable to accept the changes that had happened in him.

“It’s gone.” Oscar whispered; his voice broken with happiness. “My Hollowing... it’s gone!”

“Not exactly.” Oswald shattered his hopes mercilessly. The pardoner, no longer overtaken with excitement, had returned to his neutral and solemn mannerisms.

He looked at Oscar with curiosity.

“A ring of illusion may conceal your curse, but it has done nothing to cure it. Still, you should be grateful to have this rare trinket with you, Oscar. I do not know how it could be fabricated without my knowledge, as its essence and effects are the result of magic methods known only by Carim’s pardoners... and it’s even more of a mystery how someone could transpose the power of a curse stone into the shape of a ring. Where did you find it, Oscar?”

It was cruel of Oswald to demand information of him after shattering his hopes of being healed from the Hollowing so coldly.

“It was a thief’s.” Oscar answered, removing the ring and watching with overwhelming disappointment how his flesh and voice returned to their previous state the moment the accessory departed from his body. “His name was Patches. He gave it to me.”

“A thief gave something away for free? How ridiculous!”

“It’s true.”

“Then this man you talk about is as skilled as he is unpredictable. I’ll be sure to remember his name, and should I ever meet him, I’ll let him know I am fully aware of his wickedness.” Oswald laughed once more. “For now, you should keep the ring, Oscar. It was my duty as a pardoner to offer you some comfort from your Hollowing, and though the methods used in your confession were rather unorthodox, I believe we can call it a success. What’s this? Why are you not wearing it?”

“I will not wear a cursed artifact created out of the pain and torture of innocents, no matter what benefits it brings to me.” Oscar explained, staring at the ring, and thinking of how he could destroy it, but also too adamant to get rid of it at all. “You said so yourself, Oswald. If this ring is really the same as your curse stone, I do not want it. To wear it would be an insult for the those who suffered and died for its creation.”

“And to throw it away or destroy it would be a better way to make their suffering and sacrifices worthwhile?” Oswald countered. “Oscar, the men and women that died for this ring to come into existence are gone. Your intentions are noble, but they are foolish. If you wish to really give some sort of meaning to their deaths, then use the ring. Gain some benefit from its effects, allow yourself some normalcy into this Undead life you have been cursed with.”

Oswald knelt before of Oscar and gently took the ring from him and grabbed his hand.

He slid the ring back into his index finger, and much to his own chagrin, Oscar offered little resistance.

“You are a good man, Oscar of Astora.” Oswald said to him. “And if by wearing this ring you feel as if you were committing sin, then rest your heart assured and know you are not. Yet, if these dark feelings remain, then come to me any time and I’ll do my best to put your doubts to rest. This pardoner will always be here for you. That is my duty, after all.”

For the first time, Oswald’s smile caused Oscar something other than fear or dread.

He believed him, he trusted him, but his stubborn mind would not allow him to go through with the deception, no matter how persuading the pardoner’s words had been.

“I’m sorry, Oswald.” Oscar said, grabbing the ring with two of his fingers. “But I—”

“Oscar? Is everything alright?”

Solaire’s intrusion had two major effects.

The first and most notable was the jump with which Oswald got back on his feet.

The other was the departure of Oscar’s fingers from the ring.

“It’s just that a long time has passed and I was worried that something—By the gods! Oscar!”

Oswald elegantly moved out of the way so that Solaire could take his place by Oscar’s side. The sunlight warrior dropped so abruptly to his knees that Oscar feared he had sprained a muscle, but Solaire’s whole attention was fixed on his face.

“Oscar.” Solaire said with a faint thread of voice as he traced his fingers along Oscar’s temple and cheek. “Oscar... your face.”

“Solaire, I’m—”

“Your voice!” Solaire gasped and covered his mouth with both his hands. His eyes filled with tears. He gave Oscar no opportunity to say a word and trapped him in a strong embrace that left Oscar out of breath. “Your Hollowing... it’s gone! You’re healed! Oh, my friend, this is a true miracle! Thank you, pardoner Oswald. Thank you!”

“There is nothing to thank me for, Warrior of Sunlight.” Oswald replied.

Oscar watched him from Solaire’s shoulder.

The pardoner had returned to his usual stance, with his arms widely spread in what looked like a welcoming embrace for his invisible goddess.

“You are welcome any time, for it is only human to commit sin.”

His eyes, overshadowed by the edges of his mask, met with Oscar’s, just as the knight remained trapped in Solaire’s overjoyed arms.

“Just as it is human to repent and allow ourselves to change.”

The echo of his sinister cackle resonated across the old church, with the same potency the tolling of the bell had done.

* * *

"Oh."

Some of the paint slipped past the line.

Perhaps the stroke of the brush had been too forceful.

It was alright.

There where no mistakes that could be made while paiting, only new possibilities to discover and explore.


	22. Fabled knights and merciful clerics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Thanks a lot to everyone for reading/leaving kudos and to inedible, sabatons, Mrs Littletall and NatashaBrown for the comments!
> 
> Long chapter ahead! 
> 
> Hahaha I hope you enjoy it :D

“I wish we had more time in our hands. I would have liked to pick some flowers for the fire keeper.”

“We’ve got a lady to save, and you’re lamenting your lost chance to woo the fire keeper? This is far from being acceptable knightly behavior, Solaire.”

“Oh dear, it’s not like that at all! I just think she deserves a small token of our appreciation. When we left Firelink Shrine, we never thanked her for all the Estus we extracted from the bonfire, we didn’t even said farewell to her. I feel we were unjustly rude to her... I wanted to let her know we are thankful for all her efforts.”

The elevator from the old church descended at a glacial pace, but it was the best and fastest route to get back to Firelink Shrine.

Oscar pondered for a moment on what Solaire had said.

The duty of a fire keeper was not a gentle one, and the hearts of those poor women promptly became jaded and withdrawn. It was a common place for poems and tales to depict them as merciful maidens desperate to find a chivalrous knight to fall in love with, but reality couldn’t be any more different than its fictitious counterpart.

Oscar knew the fire keeper at Firelink Shrine would find no amusement nor comfort in any gift Solaire presented to her.

To give her a bouquet of picked flowers would not make her weep or swoon of gratefulness; and more than a well-intentioned gift, the gesture could pass as cruel, disrespectful mockery.

“Very well. We’ll thank her, Solaire.” Oscar said, still not accustomed to the sound of his normal voice. “But it would be best to leave any sort of gift out of this. I know you mean well, but her duty is heavy and difficult, and the least she needs or deserves is for us to upset her with unwanted presents. A simple _‘thank you’_ should be sufficient. I promise you we’ll do this, but right now, you need to focus on our duty.”

“I... I suppose that makes sense. Perhaps I was too naïve in my thinking.” Solaire sighed. “You are right, Oscar. This is not the time to be thinking about this. We have a lady to save. I just hope we aren’t too late.”

“We will save her.” Oscar stated with unyielding determination as his impatience with the slow elevator grew. “I promise.”

Slowly, the shrine once again became visible.

Only a couple of minutes more before they touched ground again.

_But it could take only a couple of minutes for Petrus to harm her._

Oscar knew Petrus was a vile man, but Oswald had confirmed and worsened his perception of the wicked cleric.

The pardoner had mentioned him in a carefree statement that had never intended to send Oscar and Solaire in an urgent quest to rescue a lady from his claws.

“It’s nice to see that good people and honorable knights can exist in this land.” Oswald had said while Solaire was still baffled by Oscar’s presumed healing. “I must admit that when the first person I saw on my arrival was none other than Petrus of Thorolund, my hopes faltered. Though I suppose a man as drenched in sin as him must feel at home in this place, wouldn’t you agree?”

Oswald hadn’t had the chance to laugh, for as soon as he had finished talking, Oscar threw endless questions at him about the cleric.

Oswald, in a forced attempt to act like a professional pardoner that thoroughly respected the privacy of his clients’ confessions, had said nothing to Oscar about Petrus’ faults.

“If you are so interested in his sins, you should go ask him yourself, ringer of the bell.” Oswald had stated with authority, clearly letting Oscar know his insistence was starting to annoy him. “He should still be at Firelink Shrine, in the company of his two fellow clerics and his beloved lady. But I must warn you that to incite the fury of that man would not be a wise move on your behalf. Who knows what he could do to that poor girl in a fit of madness if— Oh my, did I say that out loud?”

Oscar had thanked Oswald half-heartedly; then, he had grabbed Solaire by the arm, urging him to make haste. He had explained everything to him on their way to the elevator. Solaire had not understood everything Oscar had told him, but the fact an innocent lady was in danger was all he needed to know to accept the unexpected quest without questions.

Oscar had also set everything else on his mind aside. All that mattered to him at that moment was rescuing the woman before Petrus dared to put a finger on her.

The memory of Petrus’ disgusting expression when he had talked about the punishment Oscar should have inflicted on the fire keeper made the knight’s anxious heart race against his ribs.

He would not allow Petrus to bring any harm to the innocent woman that was under his false protection; a woman that surely trusted him without knowing of his true nature.

“Our priority is to keep the lady safe.” Oscar told Solaire just as the elevator’s gate began to slide open. “Let’s avoid needless violence for as long as we can, but if at any moment you see Petrus threatens her wellbeing—”

“I know, Oscar.” Solaire replied with absolute seriousness, with a hand resting on the handle of his sunlight sword. His protected face met with Oscar’s, which was also concealed underneath his helmet. “I will not hold back.”

* * *

Petrus had always considered himself a patient man, but Vince and Nico never failed to test the limits of his tolerance.

As if waiting for the useless wench to finish her prayers wasn’t infuriating enough, the two jesters she had for bodyguards offered little amusement for Petrus.

Vince was simple, and his dull conversations were as entertaining as watching a windmill’s wheel spin.

Nico was worse; he was too stupid to speak correctly, but also too eager to share his mindless and endless blabbering with the world.

Reah, the pious lady, the irritable witch, the useless harlot, was no better than her two idiotic guards. Petrus knew of some men that would find her pretentious innocence charming, perhaps even exciting, but to him, it was nothing but repulsive. And not unlike her beloved and braindead friends, she was stupid to the point where it was insulting.

_This is all your fault._

Petrus thought, resting his back against a wall of stone as Nico and Vince were immersed in one of their meaningless conversations, one Petrus had refused to join with a gentle smile, under the excuse he was a little tired and needed time on his own to rest.

And tired he was, but not of body.

His mind always paid the price for the disgust the company of those fools caused him, as if their mere existences drained him of what little joy he still harbored inside his soul.

And seeing them happy and hopeful, as if they were heroes of legend about to embark on a quest worthy of poems and songs, further rooted Petrus’ hatred for the three dolts.

_I am here because of you._

Petrus glared at Reah and rested a hand on his chest, right above where the darksign was branded on his flesh. The girl could not see his stare, trapped in prayer as she was.

Petrus only changed the piercing expression on his eyes when Reah finished with her parting rituals and got back on her feet. When she turned around, she did not see a man whose hatred for her was as deep as it was poisonous, but the kindhearted and noble cleric she had known since she was a child.

And Petrus, too used to his role, played his part well.

“Are you ready to depart, my lady?”

“Indeed. Let us part to the Catacombs at once.”

Reah smiled at Petrus, and he returned the gesture, with a gentleness so convincing that it would have deceived even a god.

“But before we go, I want to thank you all for being here with me. Petrus, Vince, Nico... without your help, my duty would be doomed to failure. It is only because of your support and loyalty that I am able to carry out my holy mission in the first place. You’ve sacrificed so much for me, and even now, you continue to risk your lives to protect mine. My trusted guardians, my beloved friends. Together, we will recover the rite of Kindling and bring some hope to this dark world and honor to our homeland and covenant. No matter what happens, I will not fail you. I give you my word.”

_How amusing. As if a woman’s word had any value. Fickle, capricious, and unreliable creatures you are, not unlike the goddesses. And yet, here I am... slavishly serving you, as if I was a damned knight of Carim. I am a high cleric of Thorolund! Unlike those deluded Carim brutes, I was not meant to waste my life away in the service of an ungrateful wench. But still, here I am. And it’s all your fault._

“My precious lady.” Petrus approached Reah before the crying Vince and the sniffling Nico could do the same. He knelt before her and offered her his palm; Reah accepted the gesture and extended her hand to Petrus.

He grabbed it with delicacy, as if he was handling a freshly bloomed rose, and planted a kiss on the smooth surface of her skin.

“We are not worthy of your kind words. I know I speak for Vince and Nico when I say that none of us could ask for a greater honor than being your faithful protectors. Our lives belong to you, my sweet lady Reah. We shall always be by your side, no matter what horrors and dangers we may encounter.”

Vince and Nico echoed his words with their own clumsy promises and oaths to Reah. The idiot girl, always hungry for flattery, rejoiced in the attention.

Petrus stood up and let go of her hand. How he would have enjoyed crushing those slender fingers in his grip, but the small gratification he would have obtained from the act was not worth the inevitable bloody encounter it would have sparked between him and Reah’s buffoons.

_You’ll pay for what you did to me._

“Let’s get going, my lady.” Petrus said.

Nico and Vince, already dutifully standing behind Reah, readied their stances to embark on their perilous journey.

Their obvious affection for the wench was sickening.

It would get them killed for sure, but that wasn’t Petrus’ problem. If they were so eager to die for the sake of a woman as useless as Reah, he would not stop them.

_But I will not share their fate. My life, cursed as it is, belongs only to me. I shall live, but first, I’ll make you pay. This is the only vow I’ll ever make to you, my lady._

Reah cocked her head slightly, signaling Petrus she was now completely ready to depart. Petrus nodded in response. He turned his back on the three fools and began to guide them onward to the cursed tombs, the place where the rite of Kindling had been lost.

The place where his vengeance would take place.

Their peaceful pilgrimage met an abrupt end before it could properly start when two strangers blocked their way.

A couple of knights.

An elite knight from Astora and a Warrior of Sunlight.

“You.” Petrus said under his breath, recognizing the meddlers instantly.

Vince and Nico quickly put themselves in front of Reah, shielding her with their swords and shields, completely protecting her body from any impeding attack.

Petrus reacted with more subtlety, his morning star firm in his hand and his shield raised in front of his chest.

He inspected the two Astorans movements and stances. Their swords were sheathed, but their hands were stiffly resting on the handles.

The elite knight, the hideous half-Hollow, was composed and calm.

The sunlight warrior, though more tense than his companion, still managed to keep himself in check, but Petrus knew his violence would know no limits if he was provoked.

The memory of his hateful glare sent shivers down Petrus’ spine. For the first time, he felt grateful for Reah’s presence.

The sunlight warrior would not unleash his true strength, not in the presence of an innocent maiden that could get injured in the violent mayhem.

And he was sure that the half-Hollow would be no different.

_Such is the price of chivalry and courtly manners you knights so much value._

Petrus had to bite his lower lip to stop his mouth from twisting into a cruel and satisfied smirk.

_Let us see how much good either does to you in battle, you meddlesome Astorans!_

“What’s the meaning of this?” He asked the question with palpable offense, like a king that had been spoken to rudely by one of his servants. “Nico, Vince! Protect lady Reah at all costs! Do no worry, my lady, I’ll deal with this vile scum!”

“We do not wish to fight you.”

Petrus gasped.

It couldn’t be true.

The half-Hollow’s voice had been monstrous and horrific, like the distorted growl of a demon. But now, it sounded like that of a normal man.

_What treachery is this? Did he manage to heal his Hollowing?_

Petrus stunned his surprised before it could show on his face.

_No, impossible. It was too advanced... it’s must be just a dirty trick. Is his helmet rigged with some sort of enchantment that filters the ugliness of his voice?_

“Is that so?” Petrus said, lowering his guard, as if accepting the initial peaceful terms the Astorans had proposed. “Then explain yourselves at once! My lady Reah has an important mission to fulfill, and your sole presence is an insult to her honor and virtue! Were we in Thorolund, you would be hanged for your impertinence, and the crows would feast on your exposed entrails!”

“My lady.” The half-Hollow, completely ignoring Petrus’ energetic threats, put an arm across his chest and bowed his head to Reah, who was barely visible behind the unfaltering protection of Vince and Nico.

The sunlight warrior reacted the same way.

Petrus seethed with rage at their indifference, and his fury reached its boiling point when the half-Hollow spoke again.

“We humbly apologize for our rude intervention, but we had no choice. This man, Petrus, is a threat for your wellbeing. As long as you remain in his presence, your life is in great danger.”

“Preposterous!” Vince exclaimed, and Nico echoed his offense with a series of stuttering mumblings that evidenced his indignation.

“How dare you speak such blasphemy about my most trusted guardian?”

It was lady Reah’s turn to voice her anger.

Petrus, far from being moved by her support and her total disbelief at the accusation thrown at him, stood tall before the Astorans, his features completely undisturbed by their claim.

“You impudent knights! Rogues! Such crime cannot go unpunished!”

“My lady, please, do not fret.” Petrus said, relaxing his body. “Do not let the empty words of this pathetic man reach you. His offense is great indeed, but he knows not what he is saying. I ask of you to be merciful, for you cannot ask logical thought and sensible behavior from a man whose mind is half rotten with the Hollowing.”

Petrus’ listened to Reah’s horrified gasp. Vince and Nico doubled their efforts of keeping her safe, and their flared tempers radiated a violent energy that filled the air with brittle, explosive tension.

“What are you saying, Petrus? Do you know these men?” Reah demanded after recovering her breath.

“I do. At first, I judged them as noble and brave Astoran knights, but alas, I soon discovered I had been too merciful with them. The elite knight and I shared a small moment of conversation by the bonfire when I first arrived here, while his companion, this Warrior of Sunlight, recovered from a failed Hollowing.”

Petrus watched in delight how the sunlight warrior recoiled at the mention of his pathetic moment of weakness.

The half-Hollow tensed at the jab he had thrown at his dear friend.

_Yes, that’s it. Get angry, lose control. Show this harlot the monster you truly are._

“I thought we were getting along well, but this elite knight, this half-Hollow... he began to act in strange ways. He put words in my mouth, claiming I had vile intentions on mind for the fire keeper, and when his companion finally woke up, they both accused me of trying to kill them. They became hostile and irrational against me, even when I did nothing more than trying to help them and offer them comfort from their curse. I was forced to flee from the scene, confused and regretful that a potential friendship had met an end so abrupt.”

“Liar!” The sunlight warrior exclaimed. “Not once did we try to kill you! It was you who tried to dispose of us! You tricked my friend with your farce about the kindling of bonfires... you tried to take his Humanity as you did mine.”

“I ignore how you came to know of the kindling of bonfires, but I had nothing to do with it... And take your Humanity?”

Petrus laughed heartily.

“Are you seriously accusing me of being a dirty Darkwraith? Me? A high cleric of Thorolund? Oh, my esteemed Warrior of Sunlight, I’m afraid the Hollowing damaged your mind, just as it did with your friend’s. Leady Reah, please share some of your indulgence with this man too. He is kind of heart, but his soul is too clouded by the toxic mists of his failed Hollowing. Forgive him, for he does not know what he is saying.”

“I saw you conjure it.” The half-Hollow claimed mercilessly. “The crimson energy, a dark magic that would give you access to our Humanities. You claimed it was a benevolent spell, one developed by generations of Thorolund clerics. I know what I saw, Petrus. My memories are clear and true, unlike your lying tongue.”

The grave accusation did not infuriate Petrus.

True as it was, it was also ridiculous and blasphemous.

Petrus took a light peek over his shoulder.

“Behold! It is I, Petrus, a real Darkwraith in the flesh!” he exclaimed as he looked at his fellow clerics.

Their baffled faces became joyful smiles at the same time.

Vince and Nico laughed out loud, while Reah joined them with a relieved smile, completely incredulous of the foolish accusation thrown at her guardian.

The two Astorans, now reduced to a couple of insane clowns and no longer taken as a serious threat by the warrior clerics and the maiden, endured the ridicule in stoic silence.

Petrus looked at them, his chest puffed with victorious satisfaction.

“I think we need no further proof of the decayed state of mind of these poor souls.” Petrus exclaimed, feigning to feel extreme pity for the two knights. “Thanks for the involuntary amusement, gentlemen. You really have brought some joy to my lady’s heart, as well of that of her companions. Lady Reah, I think we can forget this distasteful incident ever happened and completely disregard the awful accusations of these two morons, can’t we?”

“Of course. These men did offend me, but I cannot blame them for their actions. They meant no harm, and they have done us no harm. I forgive them, and I shall pray they find peace and happiness despite their madness.”

“You are as wise as you are merciful, my lady. And if you forgive them, then so will I.”

Petrus walked towards the Astorans, expecting them to move out of their way now that their credibility had been destroyed.

They didn’t.

“You heard my lady. She harbors no ill will against you. Now move.”

Swiftly, Petrus pushed the Warrior of Sunlight out of the way with a strong slam of his shoulder. The fanatic idiot fell on his back and crashed his head badly against the wall. Had it not been for his helmet, his neck would have likely snapped from his spine like a twig broken in half.

The elite knight rushed to his side. He helped his useless friend sit down, and Petrus felt the urgent need to finish the work and kill them both at that very moment, but the act would only agitate Reah.

The dirty wench, despite her continuous demands for respect and her imposing threats, had a feeble heart that made her weak to real displays of violence. She was all bark and no bite, and if he disobeyed her now and killed the Astorans in cold blood before her eyes, she would take a long time to recover her senses from her hysteria.

Nico and Vince would hate Petrus for putting their beloved lady in such state, as amusing as it would be for the high cleric to see the wench lose control of her emotions.

The push Petrus had given to the sunlight warrior surely had upset her more than necessary already.

She would probably cry in regret about the whole matter later, and Petrus would be forced to apologize and comfort her, all while claiming he’d had no choice, and that he would try to never act the same again.

_He brought it upon himself._

Petrus thought as he looked disdainfully at the Astorans, as if they were mangy dogs about to attack.

_This is what happens when you defy me. If you are smart, you won’t bother me again._

Petrus must have jinxed his fortune, for the half-Hollow sprung back on his feet as soon as he made sure his companion was out of danger.

Petrus took a step back, surprised by his continuous defiance.

Why did he insist?

Why did he antagonize him so?

Did the half-Hollow really hate him so much only because of the few raunchy jokes Petrus had made at the expense of the fire keeper?

He had done them no wrong.

Sure, Petrus had indeed tried to take their Humanities... so what?

It hadn’t been anything personal, and had either of the Astorans been in his place, they would have done the same thing.

“I won’t let you get away with this.” 

The half-Hollow stated, loud enough for everyone in the shrine to hear.

“You are a vile man, Petrus, and I won’t let you hurt this woman and her guards, not if I can expose your lies! Twist the truth as much as you want, that won’t make you any less free or innocent of the sins you are drenched with. My lady, if you can’t believe me or my companion, then trust the word of a pardoner! The same pardoner that knows of Petrus’ faults and warned us of what fate could befall you if you continued to trust him! Oswald of Carim supports my accusations; he lingers nearby, at the old church. Talk to him; expose Petrus as a threat to your safety and he will be free to tell you all about Petrus’ confessions and sins. Please, my lady... trust me in this. Please.”

Time stopped for Petrus. The weight of the accusations fell heavily on his shoulders, so real and tangible that he swore a statue had crushed him.

He did not dare to look over his shoulder to confirm the effect the half-hollow’s claim had had on Reah, Nico and Vince.

Pardoners, regardless of their origin, were deeply respected by all nations and kingdoms, and their word held a powerful influence that was not easily ignored.

_Oswald._

That treacherous snake!

Could it be true?

Was he there in Lordran?

Petrus had caught not a single glance of any pardoner passing through Firelink Shrine; then again, Oswald was known for his guile and slippery movements. He was more shadow than he was a man.

The Warrior of Sunlight stood up and remained by the half-Hollow’s side, but if he thought that was enough to intimidate Petrus, then the cleric had a nasty surprise for them both.

“I am a high cleric. I confess my few sins directly to Allfather Lloyd.” Petrus said, not a single trace of fear or nervousness in his voice. “And even if your encounter with said pardoner was true, it would not surprise me that a pardoner of Carim would try to mud my reputation. We all know how apprehensive people from Carim are of their goddesses and religion, and how little tolerance they show to those who do not share their beliefs. We clerics of Thorolund are no strangers to their petty treatment. I guess it was only a matter of time before some of their venom finally reached me.”

“Death to Velka, the fraudulent goddess!” Vince exclaimed, spitting to the ground. “Hail Allfather Lloyd, uncle of lord Gwyn!”

Nico applauded his claim. Reah begged them both to remain quiet and be respectful, but her approval and favoritism for the acclaimed god was obvious.

“It pains me to see that Astora would show more trust in Carim, their sworn enemy, than they would in Thorolund, their trusted ally.” Petrus proceeded after feeling the growing approval he was getting from his stupid companions. “Aren’t our homelands joined by generations of friendship and goodwill? Do we not share the same religion and traditions? You’d do well to remember who your true allies are, Astoran knights. You wouldn’t want to tarnish a bond as pure and strong as that which ties our kingdoms together, would you?”

“A man’s sins are his alone.” The bloody half-Hollow retorted. “Our places of birth have nothing to do with this.”

“The next time a Carim bastard stabs you in the back, I dare you repeat those same words aloud, you half-baked monster.” Petrus couldn’t stop himself and violently rested his morning star on the lower part of the half-Hollow’s helmet. “Then we’ll see how strong this ideal of yours still stands.”

The Warrior of Sunlight immediately reacted by unsheathing his sunlight sword. With a swift but powerful swing, he repelled the morning star away from the half-Hollow. The force of the attack made Petrus lose his balance, but he recovered after one miscalculated step and faced the Warrior of Sunlight.

Petrus felt his face and neck burning with furious blood.

“Petrus!” Reah’s voice, though touched with trembling anxiety, remained authoritative. “Enough! Please, do no ignite in needless bloodshed. If you are worried that the claims of these knights have changed or distorted my opinion of you, I assure you they have not. Nothing they say could make me think of you as something else other than my loyal guardian. These men are not well, they don’t know any better, but we do! Please, Petrus. Do not harm them. No one here needs to die.”

_That’s not true. You do._

“Very well, my lady.” After a long moment of brittle silence, Petrus’ recollected enough pieces of his common sense to cool down his flaring battle instincts. “I shall do as you command and—”

“Reah, listen to me!” The half-Hollow exclaimed, his desperation no longer hidden behind knightly stoicism. “Your trust is misplaced! I beg of you, do not continue your pilgrimage with this man. He is not who he claims to be. He is not the man you think he is.”

“You dare to address our lady by her name, as if she was a peasant’s daughter?” Vince spat, and Petrus approved of his disdain for the Astoran. “The gall!”

“Vince, not you too.” Reah lamented, exhausted of the confrontation, horrified at the growing possibility of it becoming a gory encounter.

_Obviously, the pampered and weak child has not what it takes to deal with reality. Though to be honest, I am tired of this too._

“It jumps to the eye these knights will not stop with their fraudulent and relentless claims.” Petrus announced, bringing forth a feign but convincing sense of order for everyone involved. “My lady, I respect your decision and I will do as you command me, but as a high cleric, I cannot allow my reputation to remain tarnished by the accusations of these men. Therefore, I shall clear my name in front all of you and prove I am innocent of all sin. I’ll go to the old church and bring here this pardoner, Oswald of Carim, and he will have my permission to recite out loud all the supposed sins he knows me guilty of.”

“Petrus! There’s no need for that. Nico, Vince and I have not been persuaded by the lies of these wicked knights!”

“I know, my dear lady. You have a strong heart, immune to the gossip of lowly scum. If I want to bring this pardoner here, it’s not because I fear you have been poisoned by Astoran lies.”

Petrus pointed his morning star at the Warrior of Sunlight and the half-Hollow.

“My only intent is to prove these snakes that their cruel defamation of me is as false as it is futile, and that I will not be intimated by fabricated scenarios, not now and not ever. Take me then to this pardoner, knights! But first, let me expose the level of deceit and treachery of my accuser, this hideous half-Hollow”

Petrus raised his chin, his defiant eyes not once losing sight of the elite knight.

“Take off your helmet, knight. Let my lady and fellow clerics see your deformed face. Let them hear your real voice; your enchanted helmet may keep your true self concealed, but I know what you really are, just a manipulative half-Hollow! Take off your helmet, look at lady Reah in the eye and dare to accuse me again. Then we’ll see how evident your tricks are, and how foul and dishonest the heart of a Hollow truly is.”

* * *

Oscar had never intended the illusion of his falsely healed Hollowing to go on for so long. He had tried to confess to Solaire the truth behind his appearance, but his friend had been so overjoyed about his recovery that Oscar hadn’t had the heart to shatter his hopes.

He had then decided to tell him the truth once they left behind the old church, but their sudden mission to rescue the lady cleric from Petrus’ hands had changed everything.

Oscar had foreseen Petrus’ tactics. He knew he would bring up his incomplete Hollowing and use it against him to undermine the credibility of Oscar's claims.

Thus, the lie couldn’t be broken, not yet. There had been a brief moment of doubt while he and Solaire were on the elevator. Oscar had almost confessed everything to him, but he had refused the idea in the last second.

Solaire was an amazing knight, but Oscar knew he would be an awful liar, even more so if said lie was intended to persuade a cunning man like Petrus.

Solaire would only convince the cleric if he too believed with all his heart that Oscar’s recovery was true.

Solaire did not deserve to be a tool of his deception, but Oscar knew he’d had no choice.

Yet, as much as he liked to believe he had only remained quiet about the ring for the sake of their mission to save lady Reah, the more Oscar thought about it, the thinner his conviction in this belief became.

Deep down, he did not want Solaire to know the truth. Oscar knew how much against the idea Solaire would be of him wearing a cursed ring.

A ring Oscar no longer wanted to take off, even less discard.

Even if it was only an illusion, the feeling of normalcy the ring offered him was real.

No longer was he a distrustful half-Hollow for others.

He was a normal Undead.

He was a trustworthy knight.

He was Oscar.

To give up all of it and return to being a half-Hollow, with his corrupted face and demonic voice, was an unfathomable thought, and it became more undesirable the longer he enjoyed of the ring’s benefits.

His thinking had also been pertinent, no matter how deceitful.

And he was about to prove it to Petrus.

“Take off your helmet, knight.”

The cleric spoke to Oscar the same way he had done when they had first met.

Oscar had been too weak back then, with an injured Solaire to look after and a heart that was still tender and bleeding because of the Chosen Undead’s death.

Things were different now.

His body was strong, Solaire was conscious and healthy, and the Chosen Undead, though still a difficult memory, was more a source of inspiration and courage than of grief.

“As you wish.”

Oscar took of the helmet Andre had crafted for him.

Petrus’ expression would have been comical if Oscar’s own guilt for his lie hadn’t dampened his mood.

Still, he stood tall and confident, his face fully exposed to the Thorolund clerics.

Reah stared at him, her hands resting on her chest and her suspicious eyes changing into a dreamy expression that almost succeeded in distracting Oscar.

Vince looked at Reah and grew furious at the noticeable effect Oscar was having on her. In the blink of an eye, he became no less confrontational than Petrus.

“Oh no! He is trying to hypnotize lady Reah with his eyes!” Vince announced, exalting Nico into anger as well. “He is an evil sorcerer!”

“Quiet!”

Vince and Nico cowered in fear of Petrus’ order. Reah comforted her two bodyguards, but Oscar could see that she was no less scared of the high cleric’s temper.

Judging by her expression, Petrus had seldom, if ever, acted in such aggressive manner in her presence.

“Explain yourself, half-Hollow knight.” Petrus demanded, his frown so deeply marked that it looked as if the skin of his temples would tear apart. “How did you heal a Hollowing as severe as yours? How many Humanities did it took? Or are you going to tell me you kindled a bonfire so hard and well that its fire purified you? Lie to me, go on. Trick yourself out of this. It’s all bastards as heavily touched by the Hollowing like you know how to do.”

“I’ve had enough of your slander!” Solaire intervened and spread an arm in front of Oscar. Petrus took a step back, almost tripping over his own feet. “Oscar is a good man, and I will not let you talk to him in this manner any longer. He is a true and worthy elite knight of Astora, the ringer of the bell of Awakening... the Undead of the prophecy! He deserves your respect, cleric, and you will give it to him.”

“Is it true?” Reah ventured. “Astoran knight... Sir Oscar, was it you who rang the bell of Awakening?”

Nico, and even Vince, were in as much awe as her.

“Lady Reah, do not fall for this scoundrel’s trickery!” Petrus intervened before Oscar could even think of what answer he could give to Reah and her companions. “They are trying to distract you from the true subject at hand! Whether this man rang the bell or not, it’s irrelevant to my question. Well then... sir Oscar of Astora, the one and only Chosen Undead of the prophecy, would you kindly tell me how you healed your Hollowing?”

Petrus’ false courtesy did not offend Oscar.

But the title he had called him did.

_Chosen Undead._

He became agitated, and though he managed to keep his nervousness from showing on his body, he found not the strength to pronounce words.

_Don’t call me that._

_I am not._

_Or am I?_

“What’s the matter?” Petrus insisted with a cruel smirk. “Are you counting all the Undead you turned into Hollows when you robbed them of their Humanity? How many of them suffered so you could be healed of your Hollowing, Oscar? How many innocents did you condemn only to fulfill your selfish means?”

_Many._

Northern Asylum summoned him back to the rotten confines of its walls of stone

It was now an empty place; its only residents were a demon and the few Hollows that had survived Oscar’s first and only visit.

The ring on his finger burned his skin.

_Too many._

“Oscar?” Solaire put an arm behind his shoulders.

Had it not been for his support, Oscar did not know what he would have done. The weight of his friend’s arm helped him find his place in reality again. Slowly but surely, his arrhythmic breathing and heartbeat regained a gentler pace.

“The weight of your sins is heavy indeed.” Petrus continued. “Just like your lies. Did you see, lady Reah? Only a half-Hollow would lose control of his emotions so easily. Do not be deceived by his appearance or by his friend’s exaggerated claims. This knight’s mind is still afflicted by the Hollowing. What you see on his face is nothing but an illusion, a trick of some sort.”

“You know not what Oscar has been through!” Solaire snapped. “His reaction is not that of weakness or caused by the Hollowing! It’s that of a man that is still healing, of a knight that keeps fighting regardless of his fresh scars. He is—”

“Astoran. Just like you.” Petrus finished for Solaire. “That only makes his Hollowing worse. You Astorans have never been in proper control of your emotions. There’s too much dark inside you... too much darkness in your souls. It is no coincidence the Dark beast attacked your homeland. I’ve never understood why Astorans are so proud of their sentimentality. Just look at what it does to you. No wonder you always make the most horrible and dangerous of Hollows.”

“Petrus!”

“What I say is true, lady Reah. I know you’ve been infatuated with tales of Astoran knights all your life, but you need to see them for what they really are. They are not sensitive, they are unstable. They are not loyal, they are obsessive. They are not noble, they are pretentious... and today, I’ve learned they are dishonest as well, for this elite knight continues to lie to his friend even now. Yes, Warrior of Sunlight. I’m afraid you are another victim of this half-Hollow’s tricks.”

Petrus took a step closer to them.

Solaire’s support in Oscar never wavered.

Oscar knew he would defend him to the death.

Solaire was willing to die for him, to die for a lie.

_My friend... I’m so sorry._

“This is your last chance to save what little specks of honor remain in your corrupted heart, elite knight.” Petrus threatened. “I know you are not healed of your Hollowing and that this is all an elaborated trick. You may have deceived your simple-minded companion, but it won’t work on me or my fellow clerics. Confess your lie, half-Hollow. It’s the only decent thing you can do at this point.”

“I am not lying.” Oscar lied, fully aware that accepting his fault would gain him nothing. He couldn’t look at Reah and her bodyguards in the eye as he spoke, and Solaire’s reassuring arm was now a stinging weight on his shoulders. “I am free of the Hollowing that once plagued me.”

“Then tell us how you did it.”

“Pardoner Oswald helped us.” Solaire finished for Oscar. “We made our confessions and he granted us peace of mind. Oscar never stole Humanity from a living Undead, Petrus. Perhaps it’s time you stopped projecting your own sins on Oscar and accepted he is telling the truth, whether you like it or not.”

“Pardoners cannot possibly heal the curse of Hollowing, you hopeless idiot!”

Petrus gained confidence after Solaire’s well-intentioned but careless words.

“By Allfather Lloyd, I cannot believe all this nonsense! Is that what he told you? Oscar, I understand that this fool fell for the scam... but you couldn’t possibly believe none of this was true. Now I am sure this is all false. To be honest, I was just testing my ground before, but now, I am free of doubt. You’ve been tricked, Warrior of Sunlight! By that charlatan of Carim, and by your treacherous friend.”

“The only liar here is you!” Oscar exclaimed, breaking free of Solaire’s protective support.

He had heard enough of Petrus’ manipulative retorts and insults.

Oscar had only one mission: to save Reah.

There was no time to doubt himself or let regret cloud his better judgment. Oscar knew he had to remain strong and confident; otherwise, Petrus would come out victorious with his cheap fallacies and disingenuous claims.

“Lady Reah, for my honor as an elite knight of Astora, for my duty to you as a warrior, I now reaffirm all that I have said about this man, with hope in my heart that you and your brave guards believe my words.”

Reah, Vince and Nico looked at Oscar, a small glimmer of conviction shinning in their eyes.

They were listening to him.

For the first time, they were looking at him and regarding him as an honorable man, not as the insane half-Hollow Petrus had presented to them.

A familiar satisfaction warmed Oscar’s soul, and for a brief but joyful second, a clear memory of his past transported him back to Astora, to the times when utter respect and acknowledgement had been granted to him as naturally and constantly as the air he breathed.

It felt good.

He felt proud.

“Beautiful words. Indeed, proper of an educated and worthy elite knight.”

Petrus’ hand clashed against Oscar’s chest. He had been so drowned in his memory of his past life he had not noticed the moment the cleric had moved his arm.

“Let us prove how much truth there is behind them once and for all!”

A white light blinded Oscar.

The last he heard before darkness swallowed his world were the distant cries of Reah and the anguished voice of Solaire as he screamed his name.

* * *

“You did well, Yoel. Without your help, the sword and helmet would have not been retrieved. You are an example of excellence for all Hollows and pilgrims. If only more were half as competent and loyal as you...”

“My lady Yuria, it was an honor to be of service to you and our cause. If there’s anything else I can do for you, by all means, tell me. Nothing brings more joy and fulfillment to this old pilgrim than to do the will of his lady.”

“You flatter me, but Yoel, my dearest friend, I’m afraid there’s indeed one more favor I must ask of you. A duty I would not entrust to anyone else other than you... a sacrifice only a loyal pilgrim can make.”

Yoel clung to his withered staff.

Honor and fear clashed inside his rotten heart.

Lady Yuria, always so merciful and kind, came to him and embraced him.

“My friend.” Yoel whispered as the tears of his lady touched his tattered tunic. “My lady.”


	23. Nothing was true

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone 
> 
> Time for the usual speech haha. Thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to Mrs Littletall for the comment!
> 
> I hope you like the chapter! With more feels than usual. I just have too many feels about thia fic, I cannot help it haha.

_“By the gods, there he is again. What an annoying prick, though I must say I feel a bit sorry for the moron. Does he really think we enjoy his presence?”_

_“Of course he does, he’s an idiot. Don’t you feel bad about him! If you ask me, a knight that gets tricked even by some old farmer deserves all the mistreatment he gets.”_

_The elite knight laughed merrily, the pint on his hand spilling some of the ale on the wooden table. His friend, an elite knight too, joined him._

_“What did the idiot do this time? Do tell!”_

_“Didn’t you hear? It was everyone’s favorite anecdote for days! And the best part is the idiot was completely oblivious of the whole thing; he still is! Every time someone sarcastically congratulates him for his good deed, he says ‘it was nothing! I’m here to help anytime’.”_

_They laughed together again._

_“That man is something else. How he even managed to become a knight in the first place is beyond me.”_

_“Haven’t you seen him fight? He’s got the strength of a giant! And the brains and grace of one too.”_

_“You speak the truth, friend! Curses, he’s seen us now. Hurry, tell me of the farmer’s trickery! Quickly, before the idiot gets too close.”_

_“Apparently, the farmer told the idiot he needed help with his crop field, which had gotten infested with nettles. The farmer said he wanted to get the work done by himself, but that his broken ankle made it impossible. An ankle that was conveniently fully healed the day after. As expected, the idiot immediately accepted the work and began ripping out every single nettle on the field... with his bare hands.”_

_“Ha! Typical Solaire!”_

_“And the best thing is that he didn’t even ask the farmer for any sort of payment once he was done. Not that the old man would have been obligated to give him anything for his services. A knight that doesn’t establish a payment beforehand has no right to reclaim it afterwards. Such a relief that rule doesn’t apply to us elites.”_

_“Hey, don’t be unfair with the fool! You can’t ask him to remember this sort of things; it could make his head catch fire faster than a leaking oil lamp.”_

_“I think his hands are still swollen with nettle poison. Hopefully not; otherwise, he’ll be of no use to us. What a shame, I really wanted my sword and shield to get polished today. We elites shouldn’t do this sort of menial work by ourselves! It’s below us.”_

_“I get what you’re saying, but don’t you worry. I’m sure the idiot wouldn’t refuse us the favor even if his hands had been cut off. He wouldn’t want the elites of Astora to resent him, would he?”_

_“Spoken like a true elite knight! Cheers to you, friend!”_

_The two elite knights made a quick toast and finished their drinks._

_“Hey, Oscar! Don’t you want to get your sword and shield polished for free too?”_

_The third elite knight had silently listened to his comrades’ conversation from a nearby table. He stood up and gave them a condescending look from behind the visor of his helmet._

_“You want me to entrust my equipment to the same man that couldn’t even properly get rid of some nettles? Please, I’d rather whet and polish my sword with a muddied rock.”_

_“Properly? Wait, wait! Are you saying the idiot couldn’t even do that simple task right?” one of the elite knights asked him, as prepared as his friend to explode in boisterous cackling._

_“I’m not the town crier. Ask Solaire yourselves if you are so curious, he’s already coming this way. Now, if you excuse me, I’ve got better things to do than watching you humiliate the poor bastard.”_

_“Oh please, as if you didn’t enjoy the idiot’s misadventures as much as the rest of Astora.”_

_“I couldn’t care less about him. Dress him in a jester’s patched attire and make him dance under the sun for three days in a row if you wish. It’s none of my business.” Oscar told them. “But don’t come crying to me after he leaves your swords and shields all chipped and blunt.”_

_“Dressing him in a jester’s patched attire... Gwyn’s mercy, that’s genius! Maybe if we tell him it’s some sort of praising ritual for the sun—” the other elite knight snapped his fingers, and he and his drinking partner started planning how to get the idea become reality._

_Oscar left them to their machinations, completely uncaring of whether they had success or not._  
_Solaire then passed trotting next to him._

_“Hello there!” The always jolly knight told him with a gleaming smile. “Do you—"_

_Oscar was glad he had not removed his helmet at any moment. It granted him the perfect excuse to completely ignore Solaire, just as he always did._

_He left the lower-class knight behind, without giving him the slightest sign he had seen or heard him._

_Whether he was an idiot or not was something Oscar had given little thought to, but he did agree with something one of his fellow elite knights had stated._

_Solaire was annoying, and if he was so gullible, then maybe he did deserve to be everyone’s laughingstock._

_Oscar looked over his shoulder one last time before abandoning the tavern, and saw his fellow elite knights talking with an enthusiastic Solaire, praising him for his good deed with the farmer and the crop field._

_Solaire thanked them humbly._

_Oscar did not feel pity for him, and he had no intention of stopping the cruel jest they had planned for Solaire._

_The lower-class knight was not worthy of his time._

_“Pathetic.” Oscar grunted disdainfully under his breath._

_It was the only thought he was willing to waste on Solaire._

_With that, he left the building behind, and he did not think of him again._

* * *

The dream shattered into pieces and was replaced by a loud, chaotic reality.

It was as if the shouting had never ceased.

Solaire screamed his name , while Reah’s pleas remained ignored by all.

Oscar’s sight became one with his mind again.  
The first thing he saw was the blurry image of Solaire being held down to the floor by Petrus and Reah’s bodyguards.

The three men, strong and trained as they were, could barely keep Solaire pinned down as he trashed and struggled to break free from them. 

The clerics’ faces were red and sweating of exhaustion. Nico and Vince frowned with frustration as their efforts failed to make Solaire stop, while Petrus smiled in amusement at Solaire’s futile attempts to shake them off.

“Oscar!” Solaire managed to lift his torso from the ground by stretching his arms.

The energetic impulse sent Nico into the air. The tired cleric fell on his back, exhausted and injured, and hit his head with the floor. Reah ran to his aid, her tearful eyes fixed on her guardians as she begged them to stop.

Vince kept his position on top of Solaire only out of sheer luck. Unlike Petrus, he was not deaf to Reah’s orders, but still he continued aiding the high cleric.   
Petrus, infuriated by Solaire’s defiance, slammed his boot against the back of Solaire’s head. 

The crack his skull made as it crashed against the stone floor froze Oscar’s blood and fully reawakened his mind and body back to his senses.

He was lying on the ground, his back resting against an old stone column, trapped in a position not so different as the one he had held at the Asylum’s old cell, right after the demon had defeated him with a single blow of its giant hammer. 

All that was missing was the ice-cold water filtering through his boots to make the scene a perfect recreation.

Oscar would have sunk into that fateful memory had it not been by the empty dread that was consuming him.

“Solaire.” He moved his lips, but no sound came from his throat.

“Oscar!” Solaire replied as if he had heard him.  
His friend was still alive.

Oscar’s relief returned warmth to his heart and soul, but he had no chance to enjoy it.

Petrus made sure of it.

“Calm down already , you stupid animal!” Petrus ordered Solaire as he pressed his boot deeper into his nape. Vince looked at the high cleric with submissive fear as he tried to keep Solaire’s arms glued to the ground. “How many times do I have to tell you? The half-Hollow is not dead! Are you deaf or are you just an idiot? Answer me, you airheaded clown! You pathetic excuse for a knight!”

Petrus stomped his foot against Solaire again.

And again.

And again.

It didn’t take long for Vince’s disapproval to show on his features, but he made no attempt to stop Petrus.

Only one person did.

“Petrus!” Reah cried, kneeling next to the disoriented Nico, who looked at the demonstration of violence with no less shock than Vince and his lady. “Stop! You’re going to kill him! Petrus, don’t do this! I command you to stop! Stop!”

“This must be done, my lady!” Petrus exclaimed in an invigorated scream that conveyed nothing but overjoyed satisfaction. “It’s the only way to keep savages like him under control!”

“Solaire.” Oscar repeated, his voice now loud and noticeable enough to be considered a whisper. He drew breath, enraged by the cruel treatment Petrus was inflicting on his friend, and screamed his command for everyone in Lordran to hear. “ENOUGH!”

His roar froze the scene before him and earned him the startled attention of all the clerics. Their fear and disgust did not catch Oscar by surprise; he knew well the reason behind their reactions.

His demonic voice had transformed his scream into the growl of a furious abomination.

Vince’s stared at him and jumped away from Solaire, as if Oscar was a monster about to attack. He quickly ran to Reah’s side and protected her together with Nico, who had also regained his energy just by taking a quick glance at Oscar’s face.

Their bodies kept Reah’s reaction a secret from Oscar, but he knew any benevolent feeling the woman could have felt for him was gone for good.

Petrus reacted too, but unlike his fellow clerics, he did so with a wide grin.

“I knew it.” Petrus removed his boot from Solaire’s head and knelt to his side. “It was all lie.”

“Os... car?” Solaire mumbled.

Petrus, without taking his eyes off Oscar, roughly grabbed Solaire by his untied, mangled long hair matted with blood, and lifted his head so he could look at Oscar directly.

He held Solaire’s chin with his other hand, further firming his injured head so that he would not miss a single detail of Oscar’s exposed deceit.

“Look, Warrior of Sunlight! Look at your friend for what he really is!” Petrus exclaimed. “Just a filthy, treacherous half-Hollow that lied to you... lied to all of us!”

His insults, his words, his venom.

They were only sounds the wind would take away, but Solaire’s incredulous eyes would never leave him. 

They were real, a tangible evidence of the bond Oscar had broken.

“Solaire.” Oscar moved his body forwards. He managed to get his knees under him, but shame did not allow him to get any closer to Solaire or the clerics he had so shamefully deceived. “I—”

“Don’t you move, monster!” Vince roared, the expression on his face now transformed into the most boiling anger, completely different from the childish jealousy he had shown to Oscar before. “My lady, stay behind us! Petrus was right about this man. He’s nothing but scum, and already half consumed by the curse!”

Nico agreed with his friend, and he gave Oscar a look of disgusted rejection. 

Neither would ever trust him again.

They had dared to defy the possibilities, they had even gone against Petrus’ warnings and given Oscar a chance, only to have their trust betrayed.

Shame almost pulled Oscar to the ground, but Solaire’s unrelenting stare kept him still. 

His eyes hurt Oscar, they filled him with cold regret and embarrassment, but he did not dare to look away.

To do so would be to offend the honor of the man that had thought of Oscar as his friend.

The same man Oscar had mistreated in his past life.

The old memory he had mistaken for a dream fused with Oscar’s fresh shame. Together, they created an invisible, unbreakable wall between him and everyone around him.

_I ruined it._

Oscar’s body shuddered at the foulness of his actions, both past and present.

 _I ruined everything_.

“I tried to warn you, Solaire.” Petrus spoke, slowly helping Solaire back on his feet. He took out a tattered talisman from a hidden pocket on his armor and casted a healing light on Solaire.

The most serious of injuries that the clerics had inflicted on Solaire during their savage moment of struggle vanished at the touch of the holy light.

Scratches, bruises and dried blood remained plastered on his skin and hair, but they were small wounds a knight could endure without complaints.

“But you wouldn’t listen. Hopefully, you will now.”

Solaire, silent and unresponsive, blinked only once, his blue eyes fixed on Oscar’s as threads of his blond hair hung limply on his face.

“As for you, deceiver.” Petrus continued, putting himself between Oscar and Solaire. “Dirty mistake of fate, blasphemer of righteous men, breeder of lies and tricks.”

He moved to a side, forcing Solaire to do the same by pulling him by the arm. 

Nico and Vince understood the order, and they too moved so that no one stood between Reah and Oscar.

The distance between them was meaningless, and the mortified glittering of the welled-up tears in her eyes was like a dagger for Oscar.

There was no trace left of Reah’s innocent admiration for him. Oscar had taken that poor woman’s expectations and perception of Astoran knights and shaped them into something hideous. 

She hated him; she hated him for his betrayal, for all the chaos and suffering he had caused to her and her friends with his meddling lie.

She hated him for corrupting the peaceful start of her pilgrimage, for burdening her and her guardians with needless violence and tension.

Oscar tried to say something, but words couldn’t mend what he had destroyed.

He wished to tell her how had never intended to hurt her. 

He had only wanted to save her from Petrus’ claws, but Reah didn’t know that; she couldn’t possibly know what Oscar knew, even less believe in his accusations.

And now, she would never trust Oscar again. To her, he would never be anything else other than the cruel, corrupted knight that brought harm to her guardians and broke havoc into her pilgrimage.

A monster that had almost succeeded in tricking her and had left her trust in foreign knights in shambles.

Oscar could not endure it anymore.

He tried to look down and hide his deformed appearance and shameful eyes from her and her bodyguards, but Petrus did not allow him the pleasure.

He held Oscar’s chin in one place with the cold, pricking touch of his morning star.

The metal spikes pierced Oscar’s skin, and a warm and thin thread of blood streamed down the weapon as Petrus forced him to keep his eyes fixed on Reah.

“Tell lady Reah that I’m a vile man. Tell her again all the lies you created in your insane, rotten mind. Tell her, half- Hollow. Look at her in the eye and tell her all of it again, I dare you.”

Oscar opened his mouth. 

An unintentional hoarse, deep growl escaped him.

Reah heard the awful sound, and it finally drove her to tears.

Nico and Vince immediately held their lady in a comforting embrace, shielding her from Oscar’s venom with their bodies.

“Do you see, half-Hollow? Suffering and despair. That’s all abominations like you can offer to the world, no matter how much you hide your true nature behind illusions.”

Petrus blocked Oscar’s field of view again. His morning star departed the underside of his jaw, but Oscar could not move his body.

He remained frozen under Petrus’ shadow.

“Nico, Vince. Get lady Reah away from here. Take her to the lower floor. I’ll meet you there in a moment, after I have dealt with this monster. Be sure to keep her comfortable and safe. My lady, don’t you cry, I promise you I will set things right. Now go.”

Oscar could only listen to the steps of Reah, Nico and Vince as they immediately followed Petrus’ order with absolute trust and diligence.

“Reah... please.” Oscar tried to reach her in one last attempt to warn her of Petrus’ true nature, but Reah only replied with a deep and hateful glare.

Soon, she and her bodyguards were gone. 

Only Petrus and Solaire remained by Oscar’s side.

“It’s amazing how versatile the effects of miracles are, isn’t it?” 

Petrus commented casually, playing with his tattered talisman as he threw it into the air and caught it twice. 

“One single tale can create many variations of the same miracle. Healing for example, can be either instantaneous or continuous. The Force miracle can be used as a harmless defense or as a crushing attack that will reduce the bones of those around you into dust. Fortunately for you, I used the defensive variation of this miracle, half-Hollow... mixed with something else.”

Oscar listened to Petrus but did not look at him. His whole attention was directed at Solaire.

His former friend, the man he had betrayed and failed even before they had properly met in Lordran, looked at him with a vacuous expression that sunk Oscar in the deepest end of shame and despair.

Petrus, noticing Solaire had moved from behind his back and was now standing next to him, pushed him behind again him with unexpected politeness, so that Oscar could have no one to look at other than himself.

“There are messages hidden around us.”

Petrus continued.

“Lordran was once filled with messages of old, left behind by the first of the Undeads... and even by the gods themselves, some may claim. Time, decay, and the selfishness of those who sought to keep that information to themselves have erased most of these messages, and the few that remain are not longer visible to the eye. They are concealed from us, but with the right miracle, they can come to light again. By chanting a tale of seeking guidance, one may see the messages others left behind and claim their wisdom as their own.”

Petrus’ raised his hand to his mouth and pressed the talisman against his lips. He mumbled two silent tales Oscar couldn’t not understand, and his hand became engulfed with two different lights, one white, the other golden.

Together, they shone with an almost blinding glow that Oscar recognized instantly. It had been the same shine he had seen just before he had drowned into unconsciousness.

“Force to knock you out, and Seeking Guidance to unveil that which you tried to conceal under cheap tactics and illusions."

Petrus said, so proud of himself that he sounded more like a king than a humble cleric.

"An invention of my own, and quite popular among us clerics while dealing with those we know are trying desperately to hide their curse from the world. I left it as my last resource, with the hopes you would be honest with my lady and this Warrior of Sunlight by your own volition. I should have known better than to expect such level of decency from a half-Hollow. “

Petrus smiled at Oscar.

“Sadly, miracles are fleeting, and so are their effects. I unveiled your deceit, but don’t worry, whatever illusion you are using to keep your hideous appearance concealed will soon come back to you. It’s a true shame I can’t say the same about the trust and bonds you’ve broken with your lies.”

Solaire came out from behind Petrus’ back once more. Oscar could not look at him this time.  
Instead, he covered his face with both hands and lowered his head. 

He couldn’t put up with Solaire’s gaze, not after the truth had been spoken out loud so cruelly by Petrus.

His face, whether it was corrupted or falsely healed underneath the illusion of the ring, was a nasty offense to everyone that laid their eyes on him.

“I don’t know what exact trick you are using to keep your appearance and voice normal, but I do know that its origins must be dark and wicked, as corrupted and destructive as the Abyss itself! You have sinned, half-Hollow! You are not worthy of being a knight! You are not worthy of being alive!"

Petrus spat at Oscar.

"If you had any respect for the world and the people you have deceived and harmed, you’d go Hollow this instant and take your own life so you could finally spare us of your useless, infectious existence. You are a disease, a freak that has brought only ruin and pain to this land! Ring as many bells as you want, indulge yourself in all the stupid prophecies you can think of; none of it will change what you really are... just an insane, cruel, manipulative, selfish, worthless and despicable mistake that should have never existed.”

Oscar’s hands stiffened with every word Petrus spat at him. His whole body trembled, and he wished everything could end at that very moment. 

His fingers spread and clung to his skin, desperate to hide completely his face from the world.

“Pathetic.” Petrus continued. “You sad mishap of fate. Allow us to grant you peace and redemption for committing the sin of being alive.”

Petrus scratched his boots against the floor as he changed position.

“Warrior of Sunlight, knight Solaire of Astora... I believe it is you who should deliver judgement upon this beast. I humbly apologize for my treatment of you earlier; I was merely caught in the desperate need to keep my lady safe and restore my honor from the lies of this pitiful creature. I harbor no ill-sentiment against you, and I hope you feel the same towards me.”

Petrus made a small pause, but Solaire said nothing.

“To prove my good faith in you, I shall make you an offer.” He insisted, like a crafty merchant unwilling to allow a sale to escape him. “You may accompany my fellow clerics, my lady and I in our pilgrimage to the Catacombs. Having a Warrior of Sunlight by our side would be an honor for all of us, and I’m sure it will prove to be a quest worthy of your integrity and abilities, unlike being the companion of this vermin.”

Oscar felt how the latent Hollowing stored in his heart began to break its shackles.

His Humanity fought against the menace, but it could not counterattack in all its power without Oscar’s will backing it up.

He heard the characteristic whistle of a sword being unsheathed.

_Solaire._

His head fell lower.

His elbows rested and slid along his thighs. Soon, he was so close to the floor that the scent of dirt and old stone reached his nose even through the leather and metal of his gloves.

“Your sword, Warrior of Sunlight.” Petrus said solemnly. “Here, take it. Kill this half-Hollow. Free it of its misery... don’t worry, by the looks of it, it will go Hollow soon. It won’t be reborn again. Do it, Solaire. Make it pay for all the pain it has caused you. You deserve better than the treatment this thing gave to you, and me and my lady can grant it to you. But first, kill this half-Hollow."

Silence.

Then, the rustle of a sword being handled and the metallic steps so proper of Solaire.

_My friend. I don’t blame you._

The memory of his former indifference and disdain for Solaire struck him like lighting. 

_I’m not worthy of you. I was never worthy of your time._

The strike of the sunlight blade didn’t come instantly.

At first, Oscar thought Solaire was taking his time to canalize all of his resentment into a single blow.

He remained in the same position, unable to look at Solaire one last time, like the coward he was.

He heard Solaire’s feet move again. He was ready, and so was Oscar.

Another sound.

The gentle thump of a pair of knees touching the floor.

Then, not a sound, but a touch. 

Solaire’s arm resting on his shoulders and lifting him up. 

Oscar offered some resistance, but Solaire had no trouble in raising his torso back to a straight position.

Oscar pressed his hands against his face with more vigor, as if he wished for them to melt with his features in a grotesque imitation of a mask.

A moment later, Solaire’s forehead rested against the small patch of Oscar’s temple that had remained uncovered by his hands. 

He was warm, unlike the rough touch of Oscar’s leather gloves.

Oscar would have recoiled away from him had Solaire’s arm on his shoulders not kept him locked in one place.

It was a strong but gentle pressure, free of all the violence and harshness proper of a man about to commit vengeance on the person that had wronged him.

It was a strength typical of a friend.

Typical of Solaire.

Bewildered like never before in his life and feeling a painful and continuous squeeze in his heart, Oscar slowly lifted his face from the sanctuary of his gloved palms.

He stared blankly into the distance before him, only gathering enough courage to look at Solaire from the corner of his eye.

Solaire kept him close to him, his own eyes closed, his mouth a silent line that needn’t say anything to make Oscar understand the thoughts fluttering inside his mind and heart.

_Why?_

Oscar’s jaw clenched, his teeth gnashing and grinding against each other as if they wanted to pulverize themselves. 

_How can you?_

The emptiness that had been about to spread on his chest was no match by his empowered Humanity, and it became once more a suppressed energy that existed within him but had no true power, like a dangerous criminal jailed in an underground cell.

Solaire’s forehead departed from his temple, but his arm remained firmly resting on Oscar’s shoulders. 

His sunlight sword produced a soft clinking echo as Solaire placed it before Oscar in a diagonal position. 

A barrier. 

An unyielding protection, a sign of his forgiveness, a challenging gesture for Petrus.

“Fool! Would you seriously refuse my mercy and my offer just for the sake of this useless filth? Are you so stupid as to continue to trust him after his cynical deceit?”

Petrus exclaimed with anger as he pointed his morning star at Oscar.

Solaire answered only by reaffirming his grasp on Oscar and pulling him closer to him, all while tensing his hold on his sword, as a warning to Petrus of the battle that would take place if he did not accept his decision and disappeared from his sight that very instant.

“You cursed Astorans are all the same.”

Petrus said, his voice distorted by a deep growl.

“Idiots, all of you! Always meddling in other people’s affairs, thinking you know better than everyone else; always acting like you were the heroes of the downtrodden and the lost, only to raid and pillage them yourselves once the righteous façade no longer brings you any benefits. Childish, precarious and hypocritical tyrants, that’s all you really are! I’d be doing the world a favor if I put an end to your—”

“Now, now, this is hardly the way a cleric of your status should behave, don’t you agree?” A newcomer added, the mocking and natural tone of his voice filling the scene with somber tension. “In fact, are you sure you are a cleric? Because you look more like a savage to me.”

He clicked his tongue.

“And this is coming from a native of Carim, a land Thorolund has constantly deemed as ‘barbaric and irrational’. Talk about projecting your complexes and flaws on others... then again, that’s all people from Thorolund know how to do.”

_Lautrec._

Oscar never would have thought he would be glad, even less relieved to hear the knight clad in golden armor again.

He and Solaire tried to look at him, but Petrus was too much of a threat to lose him from sight even for a second.

Instead, Solaire strengthened his hold on Oscar and prepared his sword to repel any attack Petrus could throw at them.

But the cleric seemed to have momentarily forgotten about his Astoran enemies, too lured and provoked by the Carim knight that had dared to intrude into the matter so suddenly and so unwelcome.

“Go back to whatever whore you are babysitting, you retrograde brute.” Petrus sneered at Lautrec. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“See? Always projecting.” Lautrec replied with an amused chuckle.

Oscar was sure Petrus would leap at Lautrec and smash his head beyond recognition with his morning star, just as he had done with Patches the thief.

Solaire was not blind to the risk Lautrec was in, but he also was unwilling to leave Oscar’s side. 

Even amidst the chaos, his loyalty and kindness were beacons of comfort.

“You should be grateful to me.”

Petrus said after an uncomfortable pause that only came to an end after Lautrec wielded his shotel swords to let him know he was more than willing and prepared to fight him to the death.

“The death of two Astoran should please a Carim knight greatly. Why then, do you stop me? Unless you want to kill them both yourself? How predictable, how expected from an animal of Carim.”

“Oh no, look what you’ve done.” Lautrec finally stepped in. His golden armor shone like molten gold, with only his exposed face breaking the gleaming harmony.

His shotel swords danced on his hands, their curved, sharp blades cutting the air into small, whistling pieces.

“You hurt my feelings. I may not be Astoran, but I have this small tendency of letting my emotions cloud by my better judgment. And when I do, I leave spilled blood on my path.”

The threat did not reach Petrus at first, but when Lautrec feigned an attack, the fear that struck him was real and absolute.

The cleric backed away from Lautrec, like a cornered mouse trying to escape a cat.

Solaire did not remain idle and he too aimed his sword at Petrus. 

Oscar could only stare at his fellow knights as their combined efforts effectively depleted Petrus’ courage and reduced him to a shivering man that was close to get on his knees and beg for his life.

“Yes, that's what I thought.” Lautrec laughed cruelly at the intimidated cleric. “Get out of here. Go back to that wailing child and those two idiots she has for bodyguards and leave Firelink Shrine at once. If you don’t, I’ll kill you all and rip your hearts out of your corpses and offer them to my lady Fina. I doubt your flesh would be of much value to her, but my lady is resourceful and inventive. I’m sure she’ll find a good use for your putrid chunks of meat.”

“Lautrec!” Solaire exclaimed, no less horrified than Petrus.

The cleric did not wait for another warning and escaped the scene, avoiding Lautrec as much as possible as he passed next to him.

“Don’t forget what I told you, half-Hollow.” Petrus said as he kept running towards the shrine’s stairs. His voice reached Oscar from behind like a treacherous stab. “Creatures like you bring only pain and illness to the world and those around you! You’re a mistake! A sham!”

“Is he serious?” Lautrec sighed, watching how Petrus disappeared from sight. “Hateful bastard. No matter, he is gone now. Hey now, don’t look at me like that, Solaire. You didn’t believe my words, did you? Please, I was just trying to scare him off! As if I would ever offend my lady Fina with such horrendous sacrifices... I might as well offer her a pile of manure.”

Lautrec laughed under his breath. 

“That was a joke. What? Nothing? Hmm, yes... I had forgotten Astorans have no sense of humor.”

He folded his arms on his chest and inspected them, a mocking grin on the corner of his mouth.

“You look horrible. How did a few clerics and an innocent maiden leave you in this state? You should be ashamed of yourselves. My respect for the two of you has dwindled greatly, my dear friends.”

Just like Petrus, Lautrec left, but unlike the cleric, the words he offered next were free of malice.

“Come to the bonfire. I’ll fetch you some water so you can clean yourselves. Undead or not, we are still knights, and we should look as such, not as battered vagabonds. It will take me some time to get everything settled. Or you can stay there for a while longer if you want; I’ll call you when it’s ready. Oh, and by the way, Oscar... nice face. Who would have thought you were such a dashing fellow? Don’t get too close to the fire keeper, unless you want to steal her heart.”

Lautrec guffawed, in a sinister manner that resembled Oswald. Still, though needlessly taunting, Oscar felt no real hostility on Lautrec’s end.

Solaire did not make a sound, and Oscar could tell by his silence that he had not enjoyed Lautrec’s remarks at all.

_It’s alright, Solaire. He means nothing by it. Don’t get angry at him over some silly jabs._

How bold of him to think he could allow himself that level of lightheartedness when addressing Solaire after what he had done.

Oscar hadn’t even turned his head and looked at him in the eye; how did he plan to direct a word to him in the first place?

“Nothing was true.” Solaire stated out of a sudden. 

His few, simple words so perfectly summarized Oscar’s deceit. Solaire needn’t say anything more.

But Oscar did.

There was so much explaining to do, and not only about the cursed ring.

The memory Oscar had regained during his moment of unconsciousness and what it revealed about himself couldn’t remain unknown for Solaire.

He needed to know.

He deserved to know.

“Solaire.” Oscar muttered, disgusted by the false and normal sound of his voice. He grabbed the gloved finger that wielded the cursed artifact and squeezed it, as if he was trying to break the bone together with the ring. “I am so sorry—"

“Nothing was true.” Solaire repeated, his unruly long hair slightly mingling with Oscar’s as he pulled him closer. “Nothing of what Petrus said about you is true. Not a single word. It’s alright, Oscar. It’s alright.” 

“It’s not, Solaire.” Oscar said, each word a test for his bravery. “I have failed you yet again. I have failed you so many times before... more than you can possibly know.”

“I have never considered, let alone felt, that you’ve failed me in any way, Oscar.”

“But I have.” Oscar hid half his face behind one hand, but there was no escaping from his shame. “I have.”

“Tell me about it, then. Explain it to me. Oscar, I am your friend; I cannot assure you I won’t get upset or even angry at what you tell me, but I promise you that I will listen, I will do my absolute best to understand you. I... I am not a smart man, but even an idiot like me— “

“Don’t call yourself that, not ever again. You were never an idiot, Solaire. Not in here, and definitely not back in Astora. The people who mocked you and took advantage of your kindness, they were the real idiots. And among them, I was the biggest idiot of all."

“Oscar, it’s fine.” Solaire stated reassuringly. “Tell me about it. I’m here, and I will listen. I will listen to everything you have to say, my friend.”

* * *

"My lord. You are dying."

"Indeed. Time never stops, not even for us primordial serpents."

"Don't leave me. Please."

"Not yet, Yuria. There's still some life inside me, and while there is, I shall remain by your side. But when my time comes, do not mourn me. All that exists must always come to an end so something new can take its place. Such is the natural course of the world. I may depart soon, but you will remain, as will our church and our people. Guide them, Yuria. Be strong as you have always been, and guide our Lord to their true fate."

"I will, my lord... Kaathe. The world you dreamed of will become a reality. I'll make sure of it, no matter what it takes."

"I know you will."


	24. Astorans according to a knight of Carim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once more!
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to Mrs Littletall, inedble and sabatons for the comments!
> 
> This chapter was actually the first part of the new chapter I had planned, but it was so long that i had to break it into two parts. I write long chapters, but this would have been a bit too much even for me haha, like 10k words. 
> 
> I hope you like this chapter! Any criticism is welcome :)

The toll of the bell snuffed out the dream.

He awoke and was welcomed by the heat of the fire.

There would have been happiness and hope too, had he not long forgotten how to feel either.

His mind was slipping away from him.

Soon, it would abandon him completely, and neither the toll of the bells nor Frampt’s comforting whisperings would suffice.

He looked at his hands.

Destroyed, shrunken, rotten, just like the rest of his body.

It was a miracle his dreams had remained with him in his broken state.

He would miss them once they were gone.

The lucidity the toll of the bell had offered him began to dwindle.

How he wished it wasn’t so ephemeral.

How he wished it could last forever.

He clung to sanity like a beast holds its prey, but it continued to escape from him as if it was made of smoke.

The numbing lethargy covered his mind with its dense mists.

Before his senses became lost, he spent his fading moments of clarity remembering the dream he’d had.

Dragons flying above him, showering the earth with deathly firestorms; and in his hand, lighting spears that pierced through scales of stone and brought death to the winged creatures.

* * *

The Astorans finally came to the bonfire.

Lautrec watched them in silence, his arms resting behind his head, his back leaning against the shrine’s old tree.

He stretched and yawned. A few seconds more of uninterrupted silence and he would have dozed off, lulled into sleep by the bonfire’s warmth and the peaceful atmosphere of Firelink Shrine.

“Look who’s here.” He said as Oscar and Solaire sat down next to the pots full of water he had prepared for them. “I was starting to think you would leave me waiting here forever. Glad you decided to show up. Oh, and no complaints if the water is now cold, understood? That’s your fault for taking so long.”

Neither replied.

In absolute silence, they started to wash off the blood and grime from their faces, necks and hair.

They said not a word, not even between themselves.

Lautrec wondered if he had offended them somehow.

_Astorans are so sensitive._

He rolled his eyes and shrugged the matter off.

If he had, he would not apologize.

He had already showed them more kindness and consideration than any Carim-born had ever showed to an Astoran. If they had been expecting hugs and coddling, they should have run back to their mothers instead.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Lautrec said, in a vague attempt to get them to speak.

“ _‘Lautrec lied to us! We were expecting tubs full of warm water, but all we got were some small old pots of lukewarm water and some tattered rags to scrub with!’_ Well, this is not a bloody bathhouse. And do you know how hard it is to find clean water in this place? All we have is that room upstairs full of stagnant water... oh, but don’t think me a fool! I boiled it first to cleanse and purify it, of course.”

Nothing.

Eventually, Solaire rewarded him with a simple _‘thank you’_.

Much to Lautrec dismay, his gratitude was not sarcastic or patronizing. It was honest and simple, and it added no spice to their boring interaction.

Lautrec accepted the acknowledgement with a nod.

When he had first met Solaire and Oscar after the former had freed him from his cell, they had been a lively and pleasant pair. Oscar not so much, especially not when compared to Solaire, but he had not been half as sullen as he was now.

What had exactly happened between them?

They had spent a very long time talking in the same spot where that hateful cleric had almost killed them. Lautrec had heard the soft murmurs of their voices, but he had not been able to understand their conversation.

Oscar’s voice had been the most prevalent. At some point, it had stopped being normal and had gone back to its monstrous form. 

Solaire had spoken too, and at some moment, he had wept, but not loudly. Lautrec had only been able to distinguish it because of the long pauses he made in between his speech and the sniffling sounds of his nose.

Lautrec had snickered mockingly under his breath at Solaire’s behavior, but it had also been interesting in a strange manner. 

It had been a long time since Lautrec had heard someone cry, and it had been even longer since he had heard or seen a knight shedding tears.

When he thought about it, Lautrec couldn’t remember having ever seen a knight from his native Carim cry. Surely they did, but never in front of their respective ladies, even less in front of their fellow knights.

Solaire’s behavior was both refreshing and pathetic, but Lautrec felt no need to be overly judging of him. Perhaps he would comment on it later, if the atmosphere between them ever became more casual, but for now he would try to hold his tongue.

The silence looming over them grew thicker, and it was only broken by the tingling sounds of Oscar’s and Solaire’s upper armors and chainmail as they put them back on once they were finished with their cleaning.

Oscar had done so quickly, perhaps too ashamed of the corruption spread all over his torso to expose it for too long.

Lautrec was no stranger to the sight of the Hollowing, and he felt no particular disgust for those heavily touched by it, but there was something unnerving about witnessing a body both Hollowed and healthy in equal proportions.

It felt incomplete and unnatural, and it made Oscar repulsive in a way Hollows weren’t, even if his mind remained sane.

And his demonic voice did him no favors.

Why Oscar had decided to remove whatever illusion he had casted upon himself and go back to this dreadful state was beyond Lautrec’s understanding.

And he would not let his curiosity remain unsatisfied any longer.

“It was a joke, Oscar.” Lautrec ventured, resting the back of his head on the palms of his joined hands. “The fire keeper will not die of a swooning heart if you show her your normal and handsome face. There was no need to make yourself look so hideous again. Now you’ll kill her of a heart attack if you dare to meet her like this! And if your appearance doesn’t do it, your voice will definitely finish the work.”

Oscar stared numbly at him, with his shield and helmet carefully placed next to him. He had been about to unsheathe his sword with one hand as he held a whetstone he had taken out of a small toolbox in the other, but Lautrec’s interruption had brought that process to an abrupt end.

Solaire reacted too, and he firmly slammed the water pot on the ground. Lautrec’s body tensed at his aggressive movements, but Oscar made sure to ease the tension with an amiable smile.

“That won’t be a problem.” He said, staring at the bonfire with a poorly concealed sad look on his eyes as he returned his sword into its sheath and put it on the ground. “I wouldn’t dare to show myself before her or any other lady, not even if my face was not half Hollowed.”

“Why is that?” Lautrec insisted, ignoring Solaire’s threatening stare. “You weren’t shy at all with that cleric woman. I swear I heard you addressing her by her name, and by her looks, she was a noble-born. Why then would you be shy with the fire keeper when you weren’t shy with her?”

Oscar closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Solaire’s glare towards Lautrec intensified, but Oscar once again made sure to mellow things behind a casual façade.

“Knights of Carim dedicate their entire lives to protecting one lady, don’t you?” Oscar commented. “I’m sure you more than anyone can understand why a knight cannot allow himself to show his face in the presence of a lady after having acted with so much disrespect and dishonor.”

“Your first statement is true and accurate; the second one, not so much.” Lautrec replied. “We knights of Carim do not understand chivalry and knighthood as Astorans do. For us, keeping our respective ladies safe is our only priority. A knight of Carim that fails in keeping his lady alive becomes an outcast, a badge of shame for knighthood itself. Most of them prefer to take their lives than to live with the humiliation of their failure; in fact, it is expected for them to do so. They are not mourned afterwards. Their bodies, if they leave any behind, are not given a proper burial, and are left to the crows and dogs to devour.”

The two Astoran knights remained quiet. Their looks became appalled, as if Lautrec had made them forget about their troubles with his retelling of Carim traditions.

“That’s a brutal way to treat your knights.” Oscar said after finally finding his breath again.

“It’s merely Carim’s way.” Lautrec shrugged. “As I said, no kingdom understands knighthood the same way. Look at Catarina, for example. They couldn’t give less of a damn about protecting ladies or being servile to a lord. Their worth as knights is only proportional to the danger of their adventures and with how much bravery they face them. Sure, they might help those in trouble if they feel like it, but if they choose to turn a blind eye to the suffering of others, they wouldn’t be betraying their code of honor.”

Lautrec changed his position and rested an arm on his knee.

“We knights of Carim are not so different from them in this regard. Helping others is irrelevant to us when it comes to our value as knights; all that matters is keeping our ladies safe... but that’s not to say we are bound to the same code of chivalry from Astora and Thorolund.”

Solaire listened to Lautrec with earnest interest, as did Oscar. Lautrec understood their reactions; he doubted they had ever met a Carim-born outside the battlefield, even less talked to one under such peaceful circumstances.

For him, the experience was new too.

The only Astorans he had met before had only spoken to him to beg for their lives.

“We keep our ladies out of harm’s way by any means necessary, and we do not waste our breaths or time with needless courtly manners. Is your lady unable to continue her journey, yet she is still far from being dead? Lock her up in a cell and guard the entrance until she heals or passes away from natural causes.”

Lautrec almost became offended at how Oscar and Solaire looked at him. He continued without mellowing his voice.

“She may resent you for it, even curse your name, but that’s irrelevant. You have kept her safe, you have done all you could to preserve her life; and to us, that’s all that matters. So no, Oscar... I do not understand why exactly you wouldn’t dare to face the fire keeper or any other lady, or why you feel you have dishonored yourself. You were chivalrous to the cleric woman, as expected from a knight to Astora, and you tried to keep her from harm’s way, as a knight of Carim would have done. I do not see how you failed her or how you were dishonorable in your actions.”

Lautrec smiled at Oscar’s change of expression. Solaire, who had become relaxed to the point of crossing his legs and smiling at Lautrec, immediately returned to his defensive mannerisms. Lautrec ignored him and kept his attention solely on Oscar.

“Tell me, Oscar.” Lautrec inquired again, quite enjoying the game of provoking Solaire’s anger while also trying to get Oscar to confess. “What did you do that shames you so, little elite knight?”

“That’s enough, Lautrec.” Solaire intervened firmly.

It was the first time he spoke to Lautrec in any other tone that wasn’t his usual and friendly voice.

Its threatening edge took Lautrec by surprise.

He gazed at Solaire again. His now clean blond hair remained untied, free to hang on Solaire’s shoulders and back as it slowly dried.

It gave him a more savage and threatening appearance, and for a moment, Lautrec felt in the presence of an imposing knight, not an innocent fool he could treat lightly.

“I’m merely curious, Solaire.”

He quickly replied.

“And concerned too. You were such an energetic and determined pair when I met you, but now, you both look as if you were about to go Hollow. It baffles me, really. You rang the bell, didn’t you Oscar? You are following your path with success... but then some clerics throw some insults at you and you are reduced to this pitiful state? Is it that easy to break you? And the same goes to you, Solaire. You are no less brittle than Oscar. I know you are Astoran, but even a Carim-born like me knows there’s a big difference between being sentimental and being weak, and right now, all you are showing me is weakness and a complete lack of determination. You are knights; behave as such!”

Lautrec didn’t know what exactly had driven him to speak in such manner. He did not care about Oscar’s or Solaire’s fates, and they both could renounce to knighthood and return to Astora as defeated vagabonds for all he cared.

But the sight of two fellow knights, regardless of their origin, looking so utterly sullen and defeated, had sparked something within him, as if the echoes of his own education about what knighthood stood for had forced him to speak out his thoughts.

He felt proud of himself for his confidence and authority, but the satisfaction did not last.

He recoiled at the mere thought of his lady Fina disapproving his attitude.

His beloved lady was not fond of her knight being overly proud of his actions without her permission. She deemed it as a personal offense for him to think his judgement was more pertinent than hers.

He glanced at the metal arms always hugging the chest plate of his armor and felt the soft embrace of his lady.

She was not displeased with him.

She loved him too much to get angry at him over petty matters, and as long as the offense didn’t repeat itself, no harm had been done.

Lautrec apologized to her for his shameful impudence and reassured his devotion by promising her a tribute worthy of her beauty and splendor.

Satisfied, Fina planted a kiss on his cheek with her invisible lips and granted him her permission to feel pride on his behavior.

Fina's ring on his finger, the prove of her love for Lautrec, sent comfort to his entire body, and he silently thanked his lady for all the love and tenderness she showed him.

Oh, how he would have enjoyed to lose himself in the flow of his lady’s love, but Solaire was there to ruin the moment.

“Why do you do this, Lautrec?” Solaire’s sword, which had never left his hand, tilted its tip across the grassy floor covered in ash. “What are you trying to prove? That you are a more honorable knight than us? That Carim’s vision of knighthood is better than Astora’s? You are free to think whatever you wish, but Oscar and I won’t play along. We thank you for the water, but I’m going to ask you to remain quiet, unless you’ve got something else to say other than your immature taunts.”

Lautrec blinked, incredulous that Solaire had been so blunt towards him.

So the Warrior of Sunlight did have fangs, and he seemed to be prone to bare them for the sake of his sullen friend.

Even now, he continued to defend him, as upset and angry as he obviously was with Oscar.

Lautrec had noticed the tension between the two Astorans since the beginning, but he had not considered it to be the true reason behind their sour moods.

For a knight of Carim, an argument with a fellow knight would mean nothing. They held respect for each other, but it was seldom any sense of camaraderie was ever shared in their interactions. A knight’s only true bond was that which he shared with his lady; everything else was trivial and expendable.

Then again, Oscar and Solaire were Astorans.

_Of course. I should have known... How stupid of me._

“I apologize. Sincerely.”

Lautrec said without any mocking intention behind his words. It was all that it took to appease Solaire. Oscar, more reserved than his friend, was harder to read, and remained with his eyes lost in the bonfire.

“I was trying to be amusing, but it’s obvious I came off as spiteful instead. It was not my intention to upset you, my friends. You are right, Solaire. I shouldn’t be causing you more unnecessary grief than the cleric already thrusted upon both of you with his cruelty. I shall say nothing more.”

“Lautrec, that’s not what I meant. I—” Solaire started, so obviously regretful of his previous firmness that Lautrec felt a twinge of pity for the bastard.

Gullible and too kind of heart.

He would go Hollow sooner than Oscar, that was for sure.

“You are right, Lautrec.” Oscar added, earning himself the attention of Lautrec and Solaire. He met their gazes with a gentle smile. “But only about me, not about Solaire. I am the only one here who hasn’t acted like a true knight.”

Solaire looked down, and Lautrec didn’t know what to make of his expression.

“I did fail Reah by not being able to keep her safe from Petrus, but I have truly failed as a knight for having succumbed to temptation; for keeping a cursed artifact created from the pain of innocents... and using it to deceive others.”

Oscar immediately looked at Solaire, but the Warrior of Sunlight looked away.

Oscar did not insist.

He took out a ring from one of the many bags on his belt and looked at with so much hatred that Lautrec thought he would break it into pieces with his fingers.

_A ring of illusion? But... I’ve never heard of one able to conceal the marks of the Hollowing. Was that his trick all along?_

Lautrec had no chance to voice his questions. Oscar raised his trembling arm, decided to feed the ring to the bonfire.

Solaire stared at the scene, but his hopeful expression became somber again when Oscar could never bring himself to dispose of the trinket.

“Forgive me, Solaire.” Oscar muttered in a soft whisper as he pressed the fist with the ring against his forehead. “I can’t.”

“And you shouldn’t.” Lautrec added.

Startled by the unwanted comment, Oscar looked at Lautrec.

Solaire did too.

“I don’t know the whole story, and correct me if I’m wrong, but if that ring is responsible for the hiding of your Hollowed appearance, then I see no reason why you think you should dispose of it. You said it was created from the pain of innocents? Well, even more reason for you to keep it! Unless you want to make the sacrifices of those poor lambs amount to nothing. That would be a true waste.”

“How can you say such a thing, Lautrec?” Solaire snapped at him. “No knight... no human being with a heart and a conscience should ever be the wearer of a thing so vile and wicked! It’s monstrous, and I won’t stand for it!”

Oscar hunched his head, enduring the stabs Solaire indirectly threw at him in silence.

“Such a narrow-minded point of view.”

Lautrec sighed with a reproachful nod of his head.

“Proper of a cleric, but not of a knight, especially not an Undead one, Solaire. You want to be a righteous hero that never commits sin? Fine, but do not force Oscar to be the same as you. He is not yours to shape as you wish. And if his decision clashes with your morality, then you two should part ways. It is clear this partnership of yours has met a dead end, so save yourselves the trouble and end this ill-fated friendship before it consumes you. That would the best thing to do, for both of you.”

The reasoning made complete sense for Lautrec, but judging by the despair that distorted Oscar's and Solaire’s faces, the idea was not something either had considered seriously.

Perhaps it had been floating in the back of their minds, but they had not dared to grab it firmly and put it against each other and say _‘this is an option we could take, this is a path we could choose’_ , not until Lautrec had done the work for them.

_I will never understand them._

Lautrec thought, disappointed that the reason behind their conflict was so boring and foreign to him.

Not as invested in their predicament anymore, Lautrec stood up and walked towards the shrine’s stairs. He had gotten all the amusement possible from their situation, at least for the time being.

Before he could squeeze some more fun out of it, he needed Oscar and Solaire to talk more about their situation in private.

Talk, talk, talk and more talk.

Talk like the Astorans they were, talk like Astorans always did.

Were they of Carim origin, the could have saved themselves the trouble and just put an end to their differences with a fight to the death.

At least he had offered them an interesting potential outcome, and Lautrec was sure it would brew some interesting reactions from them, and he would return later and witness the results.

But for that to happen, he needed to leave them alone for a moment.

He stopped briefly by their side.

“Think of your own interests. That’s not selfish, it’s smart. That’s how a knight, regardless of his homeland, should always act; otherwise, you are reduced to this condition you are in. Is that what you want? If that’s so... you have a tiring, awful journey before you.”

With that said, he left them behind, hoping that when he returned, one of them had been slain at the hands of the other.

It was a wishful outcome he knew wouldn’t come true, but he still could hope. He felt intrigued by what would become of Oscar and Solaire, and judging by the soft squeeze of the metal arms on his chest, so did his lady Fina.

* * *

Betrayal and disappointment.

That’s all Solaire felt for Oscar.

Solaire had promised him that he would do his best to understand his actions, and at first, he had kept his word.

He had forgiven Oscar for the deceit without hesitation. Solaire knew his friend had never intended to hurt him, and he could understand why Oscar had tried to keep his incomplete Hollowing a secret from Reah and her bodyguards.

Clerics were completely distrustful of anyone showing visible marks of the curse, and Petrus had made things worse by completely lying about what had happened among them during his stay in Firelink Shrine.

Solaire had reassured Oscar by telling he understood everything and that he forgave him.

Oscar’s second confession had been a bigger challenge, but not because Solaire openly resented his friend for his past and disdainful indifference against him. It simply had reopened a wound Solaire had long considered, if not healed, at least closed.

It wasn’t, not at all, and from it, a flow of painful memories had come sprouting out like blood from a bad wound.

Memories of the relentless humiliation he had received at the hands of his fellow Astorans throughout all his life, be them commoners or elite knights.

It had loosened his tears, and he had not tried to stop them.

Yet, regardless of the pain of his memories, Solaire found himself forgiving Oscar as quickly as the anecdote was over.

It was strange for Solaire too, but regardless of what Oscar had thought of him in the past, or of all the times he had ignored him as if he was a mangy street dog, Solaire forgave him

He forgave his friend with all his heart.

Oscar had sighed heavily, as if nothing but Solaire’s forgiveness could have freed the pent-up air trapped inside his lungs. He thanked him humbly, and Solaire only replied by confirming his words.

They had spent a moment of relieved and comfortable silence together, with Solaire’s arm still resting reassuringly on Oscar’s shoulders.

How Solaire wished the whole thing had ended there, but fate had not been so kind.

And neither had Oscar.

He had taken off his glove and revealed to Solaire the ring responsible for concealing his Hollowing. Solaire had hated the artifact the moment he had fixed his eyes on it, and he felt no less repulsion for those responsible for its creation.

Arstor, the earl of Carim, was a man infamous for his ruthlessness. Solaire had never understood how a man could fall so low, and all for what? For the creation of a ring of illusion and some stones that supposedly healed Undeads of their curses?

It was not worth it. Nothing born from the suffering of others was ever worth it. Solaire knew it, and he was sure so did Oscar; he had merely been convinced otherwise by pardoner Oswald.

Though far from approving his usage of the ring, Solaire understood why Oscar had been tempted. His Hollowed face and voice hurt him much more than dared to admit, and it was only natural he had tried to return his appearance back to normal.

All this Solaire could understand and forgive.

What he couldn’t forgive was Oscar’s insistence in keeping the ring.

No matter what argument Solaire gave to him, Oscar had refused fervently to give up the ring.

“I can’t, Solaire.”

Oscar had said, his naked, corrupted hand trembling as it longed to be normal again.

“It is the only way I can keep my Hollowing hidden. Humanity keeps me sane, but it does nothing to heal my appearance... you saw it yourself, back at the old church. Solaire, I don’t want to give this up. I don’t want to be a treacherous half-Hollow that inspires nothing but distrust in others. I’m tired of it; I’m tired of all the trouble it causes us. I don’t want to be this creature anymore. I want to be Oscar.”

“You are Oscar, regardless of your appearance. I’m sure other Undeads will be able to see it too, no matter how you Hollow may look, and if they don’t, then I’ll be there with you to help them see who you really are.” Solaire had said, doing his best to keep his temper from showing.

How could Oscar think any of that?

It was one thing he had used the ring in his effort to save Reah, but to use it just for his selfish means was not something Solaire had thought him capable of.

But he had confirmed to Solaire he was not above that sort of behaviour, and Solaire had almost hated him for it. 

Solaire had given his absolute devotion to Oscar; he had thought of him as a man and knight wiser and better than him in all aspects. He was flawed, but so were all human beings.

Solaire had admired him, and for Oscar to disappoint him in this awful manner hurt more than any humiliation he had received at the hands of the elite knights.

If Oscar chose to keep the ring, he would be destroying not only the pedestal Solaire had put him in, but also Solaire’s dream of him becoming his fellow Warrior of Sunlight.

The Lord of Sunlight would not accept into his covenant a man willing to use that sort of evil artifacts.

If Oscar didn’t get rid of that cursed thing, he would be shattering all the hopes Solaire had invested in this possibility.

How Oscar dared do this to him?

“No, Solaire. I don’t want you to be my voice on my journey... It would not be fair for you to bear that burden, and I don’t want to hide myself from others, always afraid of what their reactions could be, always silent behind my helmet. I’m sick of it, Solaire. This...”

Oscar had caressed the Hollowed half of his face with his Hollowed hand.

“This is not the real me. This is not who I want to be.”

“Then who are you, Oscar?” Solaire had snapped at him. He had removed his arm from his shoulders coldly, making Oscar changed his solemn expression into one of shock. “Who do you want to be? The elite knight you were back in Astora?”

Solaire had expected an immediate denial, but Oscar had not given it to him. Instead, he had wavered. Then, he had said.

“When Reah, Nico and Vince looked at me with so much respect and trust... I felt like myself again, for the first time in so long."

“Don’t do this to me, Oscar.” Solaire had pleaded, moving away from him and getting back on his feet. “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

“It’s not about you, Solaire. I’m not doing this to hurt you!” Oscar had answered with despair, also standing up, and still holding that damn ring on his fingers. “Please, try to understand why I’m doing this. Try to understand how I feel.”

“Do you think I don’t? Me? The man that has been the laughingstock of everyone he’s met in his life?”

Solaire had declared, his fury unleashed.

“I know what rejection and mistrust feels like, Oscar, especially when it is thrown at you without any reason... but I don’t get why you think that would make me agree with you about keeping that godforsaken ring! There’s no excuse for it! The man you were back in Astora is dead, gone together with most of your memories. That ring and its illusions won’t ever bring him back. All you can do is be the man you are now, no matter how half-Hollowed you are.”

“Is that what you suggest? That I retain this awful appearance that has caused us nothing but grief? How would that be beneficial for our journey, Solaire? You’ve seen how hated those marked by the Hollowing are, even here in Lordran. I had hoped things would be different, but they aren’t. The merchant woman in the bridge, the merchant man at the burg... they did not seclude themselves by their own wills, they did so to be safe from other Undeads! Solaire, please think about it. My Hollowing is a setback, it could make enemies out of potential allies before we even have the chance to approach them.”

“That would be preferable!” Solaire had said by impulse, willingly ignoring the logic of Oscar’s arguments. “Any scenario would be better than you being the wielder of that ring, Oscar.”

“You’re being unreasonable.” Oscar had stated with gelid anger. “And what’s worse, you’re doing it on purpose. You’re not even listening to what I’m saying anymore. You are so married with the idea of getting rid of the ring that you won’t even consider keeping it as an option.”

“You are right, Oscar.” Solaire had taken a step closer to him. Oscar did not back away, and they both had glared at each other for a long while. “I’m not changing my mind about this, no matter how you try to justify it. To me, this will never be right. Benefiting from the suffering of others is never an option, Oscar. It pains me to see you’ve forgotten this. It pains me to see this is who you really are.”

A punch on his belly’s wound wouldn’t have left Oscar more startled.

Solaire had to look away, and he had to bite his tongue to keep his tears away from his eyes.

He had gone too far.

He too was being selfish, for as repulsed as he was at the mere thought of Oscar using a cursed ring, what really made his heart bleed was that his friend, perhaps the only true friend he’d had, had betrayed his expectations.

“I feel lost. None of this should have happened.”

Solaire lamented, more to himself than to Oscar.

“Solaire, I—”

“You were supposed to be better than this, Oscar. I guess that was all an illusion too.”

He gave Oscar no time to reply.

“Let’s go back to Lautrec. He’s waited long enough for us.”

Drained of all his energy and feeling numb of body and mind, Solare dragged his feet to the bonfire.

Oscar followed him, but said nothing.

Solaire didn’t blame him.

He didn’t know if there was anything left to say between them.

* * *

The toll of the bell parted the sea of his madness.

How long had it been since he had been free of those turbulent waves?

He couldn't remember, and he had no time to dwell inside his brilliant mind and look for an answer.

The stormy sea of his paranoia and obsessions became whole again and drowned him in its waters.

There had been so many things he could have thought about in his fleeting lucidity, but he had only imagined an old king that slayed his kin with his spears of lighthing.

Seath smiled, thought he no longer remembered the reason behind his nostalgic joy.

Soon, it was all forgotten, and the memory of the king was replaced by his urgent need of Undead maidens. He sent the order to his Channelers, infecting them with irrational fear.

It was the perfect motivation to make those fools tend to his necessities at once.

As an immortal dragon, he deserved nothing less.


	25. Gifts for a Firekeeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> Thanks to everyone reading/bookmarking and to Mrs littletall and sabatons for the comments!
> 
> I hope you like this new chapter!

She could see it now.

The empty grave from which her lord’s chosen would rise from their ashes. She hurried frantically along the steep ground of the graveyard.

The bundle in her arms was damp and light, and it smelled like her lord.

It smelled like Kaathe.

_My lord._

She fought the tears that threatened to escape her Hollowed eyes. If she made haste, she could still return to his side before he passed.

It had not been her wish to leave her lord behind, but she had a duty to fulfill, and sentiment and feelings had no role to play in it.

She hugged the ashes of Kaathe’s chosen tighter to her breast, as if she wanted them to melt inside her body and become one with her.

She reached the open coffin, her masked face sweating in a way only Hollows could. She took a small moment to find peace of mind and body, but the weight of the moment was not so easily ignored.

A part of her wished for her to drop on her knees and weep, but she resisted, unwilling to waste her tears on someone else other than Kaathe.

_While he still lives, he shall be my lord._

Yuria slowly came apart of the bundled ashes she carried. She looked at them with a hidden maternal gaze.

_But once he is gone, it will be you I serve._

She allowed a moment to pass in silence, then, she put the ashes inside the abandoned coffin. It wasn’t as abandoned or forgotten as Yuria had expected, for she found a small ring carefully placed on the right side. She took it and inspected it carefully.

An Ashen ring, perhaps gifted to the empty grave long ago by Lothric’s merciful queen. It was an unexpected present, and also unwelcome.

Her future lord needed not the help of the royals.

They would have her to tend to their needs and guide them on their path.

That was her responsibility alone.

That was the duty Kaathe had entrusted to her, and she would not fail him, no matter the cost.

“Bloody hell! Have you become a grave robber, luv? That’s low, even for me. If you’ve gotta steal, steal from fresh corpses, not from piles of rotten dust and bones. Even among thieves there’s a code of pride and honor.”

The Hyena, another unwelcome presence that intruded the moment of privacy Yuria had not wished to share with anyone. She tensed her shoulders and straightened her back.

The Hyena may have surprised her, but she wouldn’t let him see the tenderness that had taken over her soul. She walled her emotions from him, and when he was by her side, grinning mockingly at her like he always did, she acknowledged his existence with an uncaring nod.

“Always so ignorant, always so blind to your own faults. Your attitude would be infuriating if it wasn’t so predictable and boring.”

“Huh? Where did that come from? And here I thought we could start a friendly conversation, but you ruined the moment. Seriously Yuria, you need to relax.”

His dancing fingers touched her shoulder.

“And I would be more than glad to help you with that. I think we both need a moment of rest and joy, don’t you agree, luv?”

“How amusing.” Yuria replied by shrugging off his hand. “I think your last death destroyed your mind more than I’d thought. You sad little man, mistaking your delusions for possibilities.”

“It did destroy my mind, but more in the literal sense. That bloody cleric. He’ll pay for what he did... but that’s something I’ll tend to later. So, since you have rejected my proposition of jolly cooperation, would you at least tell me what are you doing here, luv? And by the lords! What’s that foul smell?

The Hyena gagged, and though Yuria at first thought he was exaggerating to purposefully enrage her, she had to accept his reaction was real when he fell on his knees and cough and drooled like a sick dog.

“Weak.” She scowled at him, ashamed of the Hyena’s poor capacity to endure Kaathe’s smell that emanated from the soaked ashes. “But also expected. Your nostrils are unworthy of being the receptors of our lord’s scent. Leave, you pitiful fool, but before you do, tell me of the youth I sent you after. Are they now clad in the Astoran armor, wielding the sword and shield we retrieved for them? Not completely, thanks to your incompetence, of course.”

“Yes, yes.” The Hyena slowly stood up. He stepped away from the coffin and Yuria, his mouth and nose covered with both arms. “Them and the brute they have for a friend are now prancing around somewhere, looking very charming, very attractive, very Astoran... but let me tell you, no one will come close to this poor devil if they raise from the ashes smelling like a pile of manure that has been left under the sun since Gwyn’s age of fire! Couldn’t you have given their ashes a quick rinse with plain water at least? You are an awful keeper, Yuria.”

“Enough.” Yuria demanded, more incensed than she was willing to show. As much as she hated to admit it, there was sense and truth in the Hyena’s complaint.

Kaathe’s scent was strong, but to her it had never been foul. It was just how her lord smelled, and she accepted it.

But it was true it would gain her future lord no sympathy, for even the Unkindled were vain and shallow creatures.

“I’ll see that this small setback is resolved as soon as they rise from the grave.” She looked back at the ashes, and after some thought, she returned the Estus ring to the coffin and placed it on top of the dusty pile. “For now, we must leave them as they are and let the bell turn their body to what it once was.”

“Who is this fellow anyway?” The Hyena inquired, showing so little respect to his future lord that Yuria felt tempted to stab his blasphemous tongue with a dagger. With his arms still shielding him from Kaathe’s scent, he approached the coffin and looked inside, as if he was gazing at a newly opened treasure chest. “Why are they so important? Look at these old and deprived ashes. So vulgar, so unremarkable. Nothing of value can be born from this worthless bunch of dust.”

“One’s true value is seldom visible to the naked eye. It is not our role to doubt Kaathe’s will, but to act accordingly to it.”

“That’s your role, luv.” The Hyena said as he helped Yuria seal the coffin until not a single ray of light could touch the ashes. “Not mine.”

* * *

“Hello there.”

Gentle and considerate.

Solaire’s greeting embodied those qualities perfectly, but he still felt he had been too harsh in his approach. It was too late for regrets. He had already spoken the words, and all that was left was to wait for the fire keeper’s reaction.

He froze his smile and hoped his face was not overly red. Perhaps it had not been wise of him to remove his helmet, but he had considered rude and improper to meet the lady that had done so much for him and Oscar with his face concealed behind metal.

_Oscar._

He frowned at the memory of his friend, but he did not let it distract him for long. He didn’t want the fire keeper to see him scowling.

He waited, but the woman behind the bars gave him no signs of being aware of his presence. Her chin was glued to her chest, her face completely escaping Solaire’s eyes.

Her hair, as blond as Solaire’s but covered with a thick layer of ash, was the only feature she exposed to the Warrior of Sunlight.

“My lady?” Solaire tried again, but his efforts were in vain.

She was completely undisturbed.

It was almost as if she was deaf.

_Oh dear._

Solaire felt a twinge of shame travel from the center of his chest to the rest of his body. No doubt his face was now crimson.

“I am sorry for disturbing you.” He said, continuing to speak only to make the silence more endurable for himself. “I do not wish to intrude. I merely wanted to let you know that my friend and I deeply appreciate your efforts. Without the Estus your bonfire provides, we both would have gone Hollow long ago. Thank you, my lady, from the bottom of our hearts.”

Solaire put an arm across his chest and bowed his head. The fire keeper remained indifferent to him, her slender hands resting on her lap, her slow breathing being the only proof she was still alive.

A deep sadness cut through Solaire.

He had always known the duty of the fire keepers was a burden few maidens wished for themselves, as it was a ruthless responsibility that seldom gained them the gratitude of others.

But he had never witnessed it as crudely as he was doing now.

Oscar’s words rang truer and more sensible than ever.

Solaire’s childish gesture of gratitude really seemed like a mockery of the poor woman.

He turned his back on that thought and steeled his resolve.

What did Oscar know anyway?

Solaire knew what he was doing, and even if it wasn’t turning out as he had expected, he knew Oscar’s alternative wouldn’t have been much better.

With his confidence boosted, he set on the ground before the fire keeper’s cell the gift he had prepared for her. He thought of trying to get it through the bars, but stopped, afraid it could be considered an intrusion.

“Estus flasks shards. I want you to have them.” Solaire announced to the fire keeper joyfully, unwrapping the handkerchief where the remnants of his broken flask now laid. He took one small glassy flake and moved it so that its glitter became more evident. “They are quite pretty, don’t you think? And they have a shine natural to them, even when the sun rays do not touch them. They could make good adornments, or maybe you could try to assemble the pieces back, as if it was a puzzle. A rather difficult puzzle, but one very entertaining indeed.”

He laughed and hoped the fire keeper would look at him at least once.

She didn’t.

Feeling he had overstayed his welcome, Solaire gently put the shard back with the rest and folded the handkerchief. He pushed it a little closer to the bars and left it there.

“I must go now, my lady.” Solaire bowed his head. “My friend and I must continue our journey. We are going back to the Undead burg, to the lower parts of it. Lautrec says that’s where the entrance to the Depths could be... and he is the best lead we’ve got. If he is right, then we’ll be closer to the second bell, if what the crestfallen told me was true. Oscar does not trust Lautrec, but I do. Besides, after what he has done, he has no right to judge him.”

Solaire bit his tongue.

Speaking ill of Oscar behind his back did not make his resentment towards him lessen and it certainly was doing nothing to heal their fractured friendship.

He sighed and hid his eyes behind a hand.

He and Oscar had not dwelled on the matter, not even after Lautrec had given them room to talk things out.

All they had done after he had left them behind was staring at the bonfire, like a couple of children witnessing the flames of a hearth for the first time.

Solaire had wondered what Oscar had been thinking, but his friend was hard to read, and sometimes it was impossible to decipher whether his silence was born from thoughtful meditation or just apathy.

It hurt him to think Oscar was capable of so much indifference, but if he was willing to use a cursed ring, should Solaire really expect any different from him?

He had not worn the ring again since their argument, but neither had he gotten rid of it. For Solaire, it made little difference. If Oscar was so set on keeping that damned thing, it was because he planned on using it later at some point, and for Solaire, that was as unacceptable as if he decided to use it all the time.

If Oscar thought Solaire viewed his sacrifice of a normal appearance as a noble gesture to gain his approval, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Solaire had wanted to tell Oscar all of it, but he hadn’t had the heart to do so. Instead, he had remained as silent as his friend.

Eventually, Lautrec had returned to them and asked them what conclusion they had reached.

When both Oscar and Solaire gave him no answer, he had suggested them to settle their differences once and for all with a battle to the death.

Solaire had immediately refused.

Oscar had looked down but said nothing, and his silence had been like a stab for Solaire.

Lautrec’s presence had not been negative in its totality, as it had also brought a forced but relieving sense of truce between the two Astorans.

They had rested for a long while afterwards, and their lack of a definite answer had led Solaire to think he and Oscar had reach an agreement.

They would continue to travel together, at least for the time being.

But things between them would not be the same.

Gone with their argument was Solaire’s fervent wish for Oscar to become a Warrior of Sunlight.

Their parrying lessons had also been put into a long, perhaps permanent hiatus.

Their banter, their trust, their moments of comfortable silence... all gone, replaced with a brittle and cold regard for each other more proper among soldiers than friends.

Solaire took his hand off his eyes.

He wished he was strong enough to forgive Oscar. There was nothing else he wanted more than to go back to what they’d had before that cursed ring had entered their lives.

But he was a Warrior of Sunlight. A defender of all that was good in the world, no matter how corrupted it was. He had a duty to his covenant, to his morals, and above all, to himself.

_And yet, righteous as I am, I can’t bring myself to forgive my friend._

His own rebuke staggered him. He did not like to think about it, just as he did not like to think about Lautrec’s suggestion that he was being narrow-minded and naïve.

He hated to dwell on any of that, so he stopped and got back on his feet. He said one more farewell to the fire keeper and went back to the bonfire, hoping to escape the thoughts he was trying to evade, but they were like his shadow.

Always following him nearby.

* * *

“I’m going to Andre’s.”

It had been the first words Oscar had spoken to Solaire since their unresolved moment of silence by the bonfire.

His shield and whetted sword hung from his back and waist respectively, as did the broken coiled sword.

His Hollowed face remained hidden behind his helmet, as it should be.

Even then, he had not enough courage to look at Solaire as he spoke.

Oscar had pretended to be too busy adjusting the buckles of his belt as he waited for Solaire to say something in return.

“I won’t take long.”

He had tried again, his broken and destroyed voice perfectly concealing his despair.

Had he taken Solaire for granted again?

Had he assumed Solaire would continue to travel with him despite all that had happened?

Oscar began to fear he had, and he hated himself for his cowardice, but he was too trapped in the webs of his own fears and regrets to look at Solaire in the eye and ask him directly if he even considered him a friend anymore.

He knew he didn’t, but as long as Solaire didn’t say it out loud, as long as he remained by his side, Oscar had the chance to believe things could go back to what they were, before he had succumbed to his need to keep the ring.

As long as Solaire was there, he was still part of his life.

_Solaire, you don’t deserve this._

Oscar stopped fiddling with his belt and confronted his selfish wishes.

_You must be free to follow your own path... even if I’m not part of it anymore. I shouldn’t weigh you down._

He had to let him go.

It was the only good thing left he could do for Solaire.

“Just go and be done with it.”

The unexpected answer shattered Oscar’s resolve.

It had not come from Solaire, but from Lautrec.

The knight of Carim was now a constant presence in their lives. Oscar was grateful to him for the kindness he had showed to him and Solaire, but he couldn’t wait to leave Firelink Shrine behind and be free of him.

There was something about Lautrec that filled the air with poison, as if he sowed the seeds of discord with his mere presence.

Oscar had become more aware of it after Lautrec had suggested a battle to the death between him and Solaire.

Oscar had been so appalled by the idea that he had wanted nothing more than to burst Lautrec’s lip open, but Solaire had reacted first.

He had refused, and he had done so with so much loyalty towards Oscar that he could only sink where he sat and look down, and wonder what he had ever done to be worthy of a friend like Solaire.

“I’d come with you, but I don’t feel like it. And Solaire will be too busy presenting his gift to the fire keeper, so I’m afraid you are on your own in this, Oscar. Don’t worry, you can take care of yourself, you are an elite knight after all. But hey, if things get too complicated, put that ring on and conquer the hearts of Hollows with your Astoran charm.”

Lautrec had laughed. Oscar allowed him to have his moment of amusement.

Solaire had not intervened in his defense.

_He hates me._

Oscar took a deep breath and feigned indifference and composure. It was so natural for him to do so, no doubt a consequence of his past life as an elite knight.

Always a mask, the eternal façade of undisturbed strength.

An illusion, like the rest of aspects about himself.

Like Solaire himself had told him.

“We’ll be waiting here for you.”

Oscar had to muster all his strength to keep himself from looking over his shoulder and gaze at Solaire.

He spoke not with friendliness, but with politeness.

The change in his tone stung Oscar, but he was grateful too.

Grateful that Solaire had replied at all.

“Be careful.” Solaire added before going to the stairs of the shrine, the handkerchief in his hands tinkling in harmony with his steps.

“I will.” Oscar had replied with the last reserve of courage inside him, and then he had parted to the shrine’s elevator.

He could feel Lautrec’s eyes on him as he left, but his sneer could not take away the comfort Solaire’s reply had left Oscar with.

Their silent agreement had not been an imagination of Oscar’s selfish mind, it had been real.

_It is. Right, Solaire?_

A braver man would have asked the question.

The elite knight Oscar had once been would have done so without shame, and he would have expected an immediate answer.

For he was an elite knight, and he would not have accepted a disdainful or indifferent treatment from anyone, even less from a low-rank knight. And if he was not given the respect he deserved, he would have—

_Stop._

Oscar quickened his steps towards the elevator, as if the elite knight had come to life and was chasing after him.

_I am not you anymore._

He reached the elevator and slammed the gate closed with so much forced that the hinges creaked and almost snapped from their places.

The elevator went up.

Oscar took off his helmet, desperate for fresh air. He held his forehead and forced his breathing to slow down. His anxious heart slowly calmed down, but the elite knight remained by his side.

He hated him.

He despised him for all he represented.

His past self, his worst self.

And yet—

Oscar’s hand involuntarily traveled to the bag where the ring of illusion rested.

_When I become him again, I feel nothing but pride and fulfillment._

His fingers departed from the ring as if it had burned him through the leather of his gauntlet. He didn’t know what disgusted him more, his awful thoughts or his reluctance to get rid of that cursed thing.

He wished he could say he didn’t know where his need to keep the ring steamed from.

It would have been so easy to blame it all on Oswald, or even on the ring itself, and to claim the trinket was enchanted and manipulated the minds of its users to feel an unyielding sense of affection for it.

But to do so would be a lie.

Oswald had tried to persuade Oscar to keep it, and his reasoning had been the perfect excuse to quell Oscar’s guilt, but the pardoner had not been deceitful or manipulative in his speech, and to blame him would be unfair.

And the ring, cursed as it was, did not force Oscar to be its wielder. It did not fill his mind with orders or empty promises. It was just a thing, without a mind or will of its own.

In the end, no matter how Oscar saw it, the only one he could blame was himself and his petty need to remember how it had felt to be a true elite knight of Astora.

Respected, trusted, praised.

_Why? Why does any of that matter so much to me?_

The elevator reached the old church. The gate slid open, slower than usual with an awful creak coming from the hinges.

Oscar stepped out the platform, and he felt as if he had entered his reality again. One where he was only a half-Hollow attempting to fulfill an ancient prophecy, the same way a child dreams of defeating a dragon with a toy sword and becoming his king’s favorite knight.

Petrus’ words began to rise from the back of his mind, but Oscar silenced them before they became too clear and deafening.

He cleared his mind and put his helmet back on. It did not work completely, but the task he had at hand helped him concentrate and ignore the rush of doubts that plagued his mind like a whirlwind.

He had to go to Andre and buy the supplies he needed.

At that moment, that was the only objective he should concern himself with. Oscar sighed one last time and then went on his way.

The echo of his steps reached the top floor from the cathedral.

A pardoner feeding a murder of crows looked at where the sound came. He wondered if he soon would have another poor soul in his presence, eager to confess their sins and find redemption.

* * *

“He’s been gone for a long while.”

“Tell me about it. Maybe it was all an excuse and he’s already somewhere else. Perhaps he is now at Darkroot Garden, trying to find his way inside the grave of sir Artorias or— Are you listening to me, Solaire?”

Lautrec watched as the Warrior of Sunlight stood up, his round shield on his back and his sunlight sword sheathed and hanging from his belt.

“Solaire? What are you doing?”

“I’m going to look for Oscar.” Solaire replied dryly, setting the helmet on his head. “I never should have let him go all by himself. The old church is a dangerous place. He could have gotten hurt or—”

“Died?” Lautrec snorted, rolling his eyes. Solaire winced at the suggestion, like the sensitive fool that he was. “So what if he did? If he did die, then he’ll be reborn from this bonfire any moment now, and if he doesn’t... well, such is the fate of a half-Hollow.”

Rather than bringing peace to Solaire, Lautrec’s scenario only exalted his nerves and pushed him closer to leaving Firelink Shrine. He would have escaped the place had Lautrec not grabbed him by one of his metal bracelets as he passed him by.

“It was a joke.” Lautrec told the distressed Warrior of Sunlight. “Oscar will be fine. If you go looking for him and he returns and doesn’t find you, he’ll set out on his own again. The two of you will lose track of each other, and then you could become separated from good.”

“But what if—”

“He’s an elite knight.” Lautrec said firmly, and Solaire remained still as if he had slapped him. “He doesn’t need your coddling. Besides, why are you so worried about him? I thought you two were on bad terms.”

“We are.” Solaire said, managing to free his wrist from Lautrec’s grasp.

“Then why are you so concerned about him? By the lords, have some dignity. It is not very knightly to show so much worry about a fellow knight.”

“Perhaps that’s how things are in Carim, but in Astora—”

“No, don’t give me that crap. Even in Astora knights have their dignity. Oscar didn’t seem that concerned about you, did he? It seems only fair to me that you give him that same treatment. Think about it. Why should you show him kindness when he has seldom showed you any? It is not fair for you, Solaire.”

Lautrec suppressed a smile. He couldn’t see Solaire’s face, but his silence told him his words were having an effect on him.

He had done so partially to amuse himself, but his statement had not been without sense or pertinence. A part of him was also intrigued to witness Solaire’s reaction once Oscar returned, if he did at all.

Had Lautrec stirred Solaire enough towards doubt to make him realize he owed nothing to Oscar, and that maybe a duel to the death was the correct choice after all?

He sure hoped so. It had been a long while since he had witnessed rightful bloodshed between knights, and the many poor bastards he had killed before did not count.

For once, Lautrec wished to be a mere spectator rather than a participant. Oscar and Solaire were skilled knights. A fight between them was bound to be savagely entertaining.

Lady Fina hugged Lautrec’s chest. She too was interested in witnessing the encounter.

Lautrec would not allow her curiosity to remain unsatisfied.

Solaire was already in his hands. All Lautrec needed was to give a small push more and—

“He has been kind to me.” Solaire said to Lautrec, softly, almost like a whisper.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oscar.” Solaire lifted his head and took off his helmet. His hair, now tied into a tidy ponytail, gave him the appearance of a court knight. “He has showed me kindness... and I should not forget it, no matter how angry I am at him. But it is difficult for me, you know? I have been angry at many people before in my life. The commoners that always took me for a fool, the elite knights that mocked me and even endangered my life just for their amusement, my own family that never had any hopes for me; all of them I have forgiven. But I cannot do the same for Oscar. And I don’t know why.”

Lautrec remained with his mouth agape. He was not used to being the receptor of heartfelt confessions, and not once in his life he had been expected or asked to offer advice or comfort to a fellow knight.

Stunned momentarily by the position Solaire had put him in, Lautrec decided to refuse to play the role.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Lautrec shrugged, folding his arms on his chest. “I’m not a pardoner, Solaire. If you want answers, then talk to Oscar. Ah, and speaking of the devil.”

Lautrec nodded, and Solaire promptly turned around to meet the freshly arrived Oscar.

For a moment, Lautrec thought Solaire would welcome Oscar with a bone-crushing embrace, but to his surprise, Solaire simply acknowledged him with a cold _‘There you are’_.

Oscar replied in the same manner by uttering a dry ‘ _Sorry I took so long’_.

After that exchange, they both remained silent, leaving Lautrec trapped again in the middle of their unresolved conflict.

He was about to break the tension again with another of his suggestions of how they could resolve their differences for good when Oscar spoke first.

“We can be on our way now, but just give me a moment. I want to talk to the fire keeper first.”

“Why are you two so obsessed with the fire keeper?” Lautrec asked with an arched eyebrow. “I know Astorans always fancy each other, but this is ridiculous.”

“The fire keeper is Astoran?” Solaire asked, his eyes wide with incredulity.

“As far as her appearance tells me, she is. Then again, what do I know? I’m just a knight of Carim.”

“Regardless, I would want a moment to speak with her.” Oscar said, already on his way to the stairs. “I won’t be long.”

“You will, but still, we’ll wait for you here.” Lautrec replied with a sneer and a dismissive wave of his hand. “Go on, we wouldn’t want to waste the precious time of an elite knight as yourself.”

Oscar had visibly winced at the comment, but it was only for a second, and he continued his way before Solaire or Lautrec could say anything more.

“There’s no need for any of that, Lautrec.” Solaire said as soon as Oscar was out of sight. “Oscar does not deserve your disdain.”

“Not disdain, just some knightly mocking, to relieve the stress and ease the tension. It’s not as if this treatment was new to him. From my experience, Astoran elite knights are masters of this art. You know it as well as I, don’t you Solaire? After all, you said so yourself.”

Solaire opened his mouth, but he couldn’t reply.

Not at first.

“But Oscar—”

“Is he different? Really? Are you sure of that?”

Those three questions finally shut him up for good.

Lautrec pretend to close his eyes as he rested his back against a stone column, but he peeked at Solaire from the slit of his eyelids.

_A distressed elite knight and a resentful Warrior of Sunlight. Such fight would be one worthy of songs and poems! That’s definitely a duel I would not want to miss, and it would also be so worthy of you, don’t you agree, my lady?_

Fina showed her approval by sending him a wave of warmth that made him feel alive.

_Of course, the fight would be only the prologue. Your real gift shall be their souls and Humanities, freshly ripped from their corpses. Would that satisfy you, my dear lady? I know how fond you are of Astorans and their dark essences._

Fina pressed her lips on his ear, and with a whisper, she gave him her answer.

* * *

Oscar knelt in front of the fire keeper’s cell. A small smile formed on his lips as he glanced at Solaire’s gift.

A broken Estus flask was hardly a practical gift, but for an Undead to give away one of the most important items they could own gave the gesture a special worth.

His mind traveled back to the Asylum, at the moment where he had gifted his own Estus flask to the Chosen Undead.

He had been so broken, both of body and mind.

The memory, while precious to him, was difficult to endure for too long, and so Oscar dispersed it from his mind.

“My—”

He halted.

The fire keeper did not deserve to listen to his awful voice. And in case she lifted her head and looked at him, she did not deserve to gaze at his corrupted face.

Oscar made sure neither Lautrec or Solaire were nearby, and with great effort, he took off his gauntlet and put the ring of illusion on his finger.

Then, he crossed an arm across his chest and bowed his head.

“My lady.”

His normal voice sickened him, but it was the only way to keep the fire keeper unafraid of him. 

The woman did not respond at all.

Oscar hadn’t expected her to.

He continued, with as much respect and tact as he could offer her.

“I know my words are of little comfort, but please, be assured that Solaire and I are not ignorant of the sacrifices you make to keep the bonfire’s flame burning strong. "

A small pause filled with silence.

"When I first arrived here, I was closer to the doors of death than the gates of life. Solaire took care of me, he helped me heal my wounds. It was thanks to him and the Estus you provide that I’m still alive. Yet, we were not kind to you. We’ve extracted so much Estus from the bonfire, and not once did we think of you. We... I was so focused on my own pain and misery, that I never considered thanking you. Solaire did, for he is a better man than me; but now, I am here before you to make up for my selfishness.”

The fire keeper still said nothing.

Oscar lifted his eyes and looked at her. He looked away almost instantly, unable to endure the painful image of the trapped and unresponsive woman.

“Thank you.”

There was nothing else he could say.

He stared at Solaire’s gift again and thought of taking it with him before the fire keeper saw it, but his body froze just as he was about to reach it.

Had it been too harsh of him to think the fire keeper would be offended by such an innocent and well-intentioned present?

Didn’t she deserve small glimpses of kindness as well?

Oscar kept on pondering, his hand retreating to the floor, away from the gift. Gently, it traveled to the coiled sword on his belt.

He removed the broken weapon and stared at it.

Then, he softly laid it down next to the handkerchief.

He felt like a tactless fool.

What kind of knight presented a weapon to a woman?

Perhaps if it had been well kept, adorned with precious gems and shining bright with recent polishing, it could have passed for a decent gift, but the coiled sword was a scorched and broken piece of metal, unpleasant and unimpressive to the eye.

Still, it was mystical in origin, and for any Undead, it was a symbol of hope and rest. Together with the bonfires, it represented the closest thing they had for a home in Lordran.

Oscar put his hand above the weapon one last time, and for a moment, he regretted even considering giving it away.

_Chosen Undead._

They had caused him great damage with the weapon, leaving him with a wound that had tormented him for too long and a scar that had never truly healed.

But they had also saved his life with it, and the sword had proved to be a faithful weapon to its wielder, always keeping Oscar alive during his battles.

It was not a shabby or meaningless present.

Not at all.

“I must be on my way now. But when we get back, we’ll make sure to come see you again.” Oscar said softly. “Be well, my lady. And thank you, for everything.”

Oscar put on his helmet and removed the ring. Then, he returned to the bonfire, feeling a soothing comfort in his chest, not strong enough to make him believe everything would be alright, but it was bright enough to make him smile.

* * *

She waited until the knights were gone from Firelink Shrine before she dared to raise her eyes.

The gifts they had left for her were so close and so far away.

She bit her lower lip.

Had they found it amusing?

To treat her as if she was some lady of the court?

To leave gifts for her when she couldn’t move to seize them?

To talk to her when she couldn’t speak?

She was no stranger to the derision and indifference of the travelers that passed through Firelink Shrine.

Some openly mocked her with vulgar insinuations and gestures, others foolishly asked her for directions, others avoided her as if she was plagued with mortal disease, and a few more simply acted as if she was not there at the shrine at all.

But how long had it been since someone had truly spoken to her, even less make her gifts?

How cruel those knights had been.

To act towards her as if she was still a normal woman, as if her existence was not bound to a cursed fate.

They were heartless, evil, monstrous.

They—

_Made me gifts._

Two slim threads of water streamed down her face, cleaning the skin of her cheeks from the dust and ash that always covered her.

_They thanked me._

She let out a soundless whimper.

Before another manifested, she locked down her emotion before it overcome her.

She had no right to be moved.

She had no right to cry or to be the receiver of gratitude.

_I am impure._

She had not the right or time to be victim of such sentiment.

The tears stopped, and she promised herself never again to let them flow.

With that, she continued her duty as a keeper of the fire.

But the memory of the knights never left, and the gifts they had left for her remained untouched outside her cell.


	26. The past is like a second heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to sabatons, Mrs littlefall and Shady_elf for the comments! They fill me with inspiration, thank you so much for taking your time to write them :)
> 
> I hope you like the chapter!

**_To all clerics,_ **

_We have never been strangers to foreign spies and their malevolent plots to get their hands on our most safeguarded secrets._

_I know most of you imagine Carim snakes infiltrated among us, waiting for the right moment to strike and plunder._

_If you do, then I highly praise your good judgment, for no kingdom, not the backwater Catarina nor our allied Astora, is free from Carim’s treacherous machinations._

_They are foul people, wicked to the core._

_One just needs to look at Arstor, their deranged ruler, with his fascination for impalement and the inhumane experiments he carries out on captives and even on his own people when his madness is at its peak._

_And his pardoners, so mistakenly regarded as heralds of redemption, when in reality they are nothing but keepers and traders of the most dangerous of secrets._

_Do I really need to talk of their knights? Back-stabbing savages, always lusting for blood. Glorified mercenaries, the lot of them. The maidens they guard like rabid dogs are no different; manipulative and seductive harlots, demons capable of twisting a man’s mind with forbidden black magic._

_Beware also their children. No Carim child is free of sin, for their blood is tainted from birth by the poison of their fraudulent deities._

_Pity them not._

_Such is the punishment that befalls on heretics and their kin._

_Death to Velka, the fraudulent goddess!_

_Long live Allfather Lloyd, uncle of Lord Gwyn!_

_Forgive my digression, but it is always pertinent to remember the lessons and teachings of our Allfather, he who guides us on the rightful path and sheds light on the way of the white._

_With that said, allow me to address the subject of this message._

_This last transgression we suffered was not Carim’s doing. The work was too clean, swift and meditated to be product of the minds of those animals._

_Carim may be our greatest enemy, but the rest of the nations and kingdoms are no better. Indeed, even our dear ally Astora has been tempted to infiltrate their men among us to spy and gather valuable information in the past, and they still do to this day._

_The constant presence of their elite knights in our cities is not a gesture of their good faith, but a subtle way to keep us well observed._

_It is a harsh truth to accept, but Thorolund has no true friends._

_And this time, Vinheim has proven how much of a threat they could pose if allowed to remain ignored and underestimated by the world. Their self-imposed reclusion and feign peaceful ways are a mask that hides a potential enemy, perhaps one more powerful than Carim could ever be._

_The assassin that poisoned dozens of our guards and casted the spell to make us blind to his deed was, without a doubt, a Vinheimer._

_His magic influence still lingers in the air, and some of our own have been rendered insane by that bloody spell. They are beyond help, and will no longer be able to carry out their duties as clerics.  
_

_Luckily, the spell has started to lose its strength._

_I will be leading a unit of highly skilled clerics in the morning to clear the air from this invisible plague._

_I beseech you to keep our beloved lady Reah inside the safety of the palace walls in the meanwhile; we all know how prone she is to wander around the city against her father’s wishes._

_As for what secrets and artifacts were stolen by the Vinheimer spy, I’m afraid I can share little information about the matter with you; however, be assured that Allfather Lloyd and I are already working together to lessen any possible consequences._

_Please be more cautious than ever in your interactions with foreigners living in our land. Here I present you how to deal with them from now on:_

_Any Vinheimer is to be exiled immediately, regardless of their age, gender or occupation. If they resist, the use of lethal force is hereby approved by me._

_Catarinians, Zenians and those hailing from the Great Swamp are to be carefully observed. They are all strange people, and therefore unpredictable and unreliable. They are allowed to continue living among us, but they are to be exiled at their first infraction, no matter how little it is. If they resist, the use of lethal force if hereby approved by me._

_Carim knights, maidens and travelers are not allowed to approach our land, no matter their reason. Threatening them is no longer enough; the use of lethal forced is mandatory._

_As for Astorans, they are to be treated as they always have, with hospitality and respect, especially their elite knights. We all know how problematic they can become if their ego is not properly pandered. Still, keep as much distance from them as possible._

_These are times of fear and intrigue, my brothers and sisters. Thorolund stands more alone than ever._

_Be strong, be vigilant, be smart, and entrust your lives to our Allfather Lloyd, for he shall keep us safe from the envy of our enemies and the injustices of the world._

_- **Petrus of Thorolund, high-cleric of the Royal House.**_

* * *

Oscar aimed and threw the rope.

The rusty hook tied at its end clinked as it hit a bar of the metal stairs, but it failed to get a firm grip and fell limply to the floor.

He hissed a curse.

He had lost count of how many attempts he had made to drag down the stairs resting high on the wall.

According to Lautrec, they were a shortcut that would lead them to the entrance of the lower parts of the Undead burg in no time, and more importantly, without the need to pass through the bridge guarded by the Hellkite dragon.

When Oscar asked him how he knew all this, Lautrec had shrugged, a mocking smile surely painting his face behind his golden helmet.

“We knights of Carim may share information, but we do not share our methods to obtain it.”

Oscar had almost hated him for his annoying mysteriousness; he had only refrained himself from openly confronting Lautrec for Solaire’s sake.

Despite their opposite personalities, they had managed to get along well. Lautrec had proven to be Solaire’s only source of conversation now that Oscar had decided to remain as silent as possible.

He was aware that the least Solaire wanted was to hear his voice.

The less they interacted, the sooner their friendship could start to heal.

Oscar knew he had acted correctly, but he had not expected Lautrec to follow them around on their journey and complicate things further with his presence and endless taunting.

All jest he made was at Oscar’s expense. Solaire was no free of his acidic wit, but the taunts he threw at him were considerably less barbed than the ones he directed at Oscar.

He was relentless, and his last effort had succeeded in widening the drift between Oscar and Solaire.

It had happened right after they had reached the first bonfire of the Undead burg.

Lautrec had informed them of the stairs and the shortcut they had never taken, and Oscar had quickly invested his attention on crafting an improvised grappling hook with a rotten rope and some scrap metal he'd found lying around in the room.

It had taken him some time to get it ready.

Enough time for Lautrec to get bored and start throwing his poison again.

“It’s not that watching you build little trinkets like a blacksmith's apprentice isn’t amusing, Oscar,” he had said after stretching his arms, “but I’m sure there’s something else Solaire and I could do to kill time.”

Oscar had expected Solaire to say something, but he had remained quiet.

“If you are so easily bored, then whet your swords and check your provisions. If there’s anything you need, go to the merchant nearby and refill your supplies. Otherwise, be quiet.”

“The merchant? Oh, you mean that good old fellow that is as Hollow and ugly as you.” Lautrec had said after pretending to refresh his memory. “Would you not accompany me, Oscar? He’s bound to give a discount to a fellow Hollow. You may remind him of his lost love, another Undead merchant, just as decrypt as him. We may be Undead, but even among us, love must be allowed to flourish.”

“Lautrec.”

“Relax, Solaire. Oscar knows I’m just kidding around.” He had said, giving Solaire a small hit with his elbow. “Right, Oscar?”

“I don’t know what makes you think I’ll dignify that stupid question with an answer.”

“See? He already trusts me enough to counter my taunts. If that’s not the sign of a blooming friendship, I don’t know what is.”

He had laughed again, and to Oscar’s shock, so had Solaire.

Though he knew his friend had only done so because of the fake sense of amiability Lautrec had created among them, it still had stung.

“Enough. If you can’t be useful, then go be idle elsewhere. I thought I was in the company of knights, not a couple of children.”

It had come as harsh as Oscar had intended, and he had not regretted it. But neither he had dared to look at Solaire’s reaction.

He had ceased laughing as soon as Oscar had talked. Lautrec on the other hand, was not so easily hushed.

“Nice personality you’ve got there, Oscar. No doubt you were loved by your fellow elite knights and the Astoran commoners. Did you know him before he became Undead, Solaire? Tell me, was he always like this, or did the Darksign inspired him to become an ass?”

Oscar had flinched, tensing his grip on the rope to the point of almost tearing it apart. The potential chaos that would have followed had only been averted thanks to Solaire.

“There’s a Black knight still roaming around this place.” He had said, ignoring Lautrec’s questions. “I would like to fight him. He would prove a good challenge to keep our skills sharp, and he may drop useful materials or equipment.”

“A Black knight? Huh, I must have missed him when I passed through here.” Lautrec had replied. “Sounds interesting enough. My mind would welcome the diversion, and my swords are always hungry for a good fight; guide the way then, my sunny friend.”

“No.” Oscar had intervened out of impulse, his handmade grappling hook starting to take shape in his hands. “I forbid it.”

“By the lords, you’re annoying.” Lautrec had sighed. “I don’t understand you, Oscar. I thought you wanted us gone.”

“I want you gone.” Oscar had looked at them fiercely from behind the visor of his helmet. Looking at Solaire, he had added, “I don’t want you dead.”

“We already are. We are not called _Undead_ just for the laughs of it. Besides, who do you think you are to forbid us anything and ordering us around? We are not your subordinates; we are your fellow knights, inferior to you in no manner.”

“That I know.” Oscar had quickly added, soothing the authoritative tone of his voice. “I’m not trying to impose my will; I just want to keep you from taking unnecessary risks. There’s no need for you to fight that Black knight. Going to the merchant would be a much more sensible choice. In fact, I am in need of some repair powder, and I’m sure a few firebombs would prove useful.”

“So we are your errand boys now?” Lautrec had not lost his chance to interrupt him. “My, my, you claim you see us as your equals, yet you show so little faith in our skills. Are elite knights always so condescending, or is it just you, my half-Hollow friend?”

It had happened quickly.

Oscar had dropped the rope and gotten back on his feet in a heartbeat. He lunged himself towards Lautrec and pushed him against the cold stone wall. The impact of his armor echoed through the building.

They had remained locked in that position, with Oscar’s forearm pressing Lautrec’s neck as the Carim knight continued to chuckle at his expense with the little breath that could pass through his throat.

Eventually, it had been Solaire who had separated them.

Then, he had stood between them and stared at Oscar, his eyes barely visible through the slit of his heaume.

“I’m going to the merchant.”

Oscar had felt a warm feeling of appreciation for his friend, but it had gone cold instantly when Solaire added, “And then I’m going to face the Black knight.”

Oscar had remained silent, with only Lautrec breaking the quietude with his wheezing breathing as he recovered from Oscar’s attack.

“Do as you wish.” Oscar had finally said, turning his back on Solaire and Lautrec and returning to his former place by the bonfire. He had picked up the rope and resumed his work.

Solaire had left, with Lautrec following him close behind.

Oscar had not worried about them ever since, and he had put all his attention on finishing the grappling hook and dragging down the stairs on the wall.

He picked the hook after his most recent failed attempt and dedicated one fleeting look outside.

No trace of Solaire and Lautrec yet.

Good.

He didn’t need distractions, and his moment of solitude was more enjoyable than he had foreseen.

Still, what was taking them so long?

Oscar buffed and chided himself.

He had no time to worry about them, especially not about Lautrec.

He set the two knights out of his thoughts and prepared another throw. The rope flew as straight as an arrow, and this time, the hook managed to tightly get a hold of the elusive stairs.

“Perfect.” Oscar said with pride at his small success.

He grabbed the rope with both hands and pulled down. It took some effort before the stairs gave in and came sliding down, hitting the floor with a loud chime.

Oscar inspected their stability by climbing them once.

After returning to the floor, he waited for Solaire and Lautrec to return.

With nothing else to do, he took out his Estus flask and drank from it through the lifted visor of his helmet.

He kept on waiting and looked outside again.

Nothing.

Oscar folded his arms and sat down next to the bonfire. The solitude that had felt so delightful a moment ago now seemed heavy and bothersome.

He kept on thinking of Solaire, but his thoughts eventually drifted away from his present and sought shelter in the broken memories of his past.

He took one more sip of Estus.

For a glorious second, it tasted not like the ethereal drink taken from the bonfire, but like the warm and spiced cider of Astora.

It was a simple and trivial delight, but powerful enough to drag Oscar closer to happier old times.

Back to the times where he could enjoy a hearty meal in the company of his fellow elite knights.

Back when he was a respected elite knight, full of vigor and confidence.

The phantom feeling of his memories was as sweet as it was ephemeral, and it faded away before he could dwell on it for long.

Disappointment followed, and it sunk Oscar into a pit of grief that felt bottomless.

The present that welcomed him, the only reality he had left, had never felt as vacuous and meaningless as it did then.

Why had he come back at all?

He wondered, and the more he did, the more he longed to remain lost in the shards of his past.

If his reality was nothing but constant defeats and failures, did he not deserve at least this small indulgence?

With clumsy and fast movements, Oscar put down the flask. His hand bolted to the safeguarded ring inside his bag.

He removed the gauntlet from his corrupted hand and proceeded to put it on.

He hesitated just before the trinket touched his skin. He peeked over his shoulder, like a thief nervous of nearby guards.

Hating himself for his weakness, but also desperate to clear his memories, Oscar slid the ring on his wrinkled index finger. The transformation of his flesh and voice were only the prologue of the effects that followed.

When he had fist worn the ring, Oscar had believed he had imagined the whole thing, but after his encounter with Reah and her bodyguards and the dream he’d had of Solaire and his fellow elite knights , he’d known it was true.

The ring not only changed his appearance back to normal, it also helped him see his memories with greater lucidity and coherence. Many of them remained shrouded in darkness and lost to the Hollowing, but those that lingered were vivid and tangible, like broken pieces of a mirror.

Oscar tried to resist the temptation, but it was a feeble effort, and soon he became completely lost in the same memory that had only teased him with a soft caress before.

There he was, surrounded by a group of elite knights. They were reunited at an empty tavern, or perhaps at the private kitchens exclusive to Astora’s best.

Their faces were free of helmets. They made a toast to celebrate their most recent accomplishment. Then they shared a meal together. They talked, they laughed and mocked each other. And Oscar was there, pretending to be unamused by their rowdy behavior, but still overcome with subtle joy and comfort.

A comfort he had taken for granted and had never truly experienced again since the Darksign had branded his flesh.

_No, don’t think of that._

He jumped to another memory before his nostalgia turned it bitter.

This one transported him to a battlefield.

His sword was soaked with the blood of countless enemies.

Carim knights and soldiers.

Oscar had never enjoyed the bloodlust that took over his body and mind during battle, but he had been infatuated with his duty as an elite knight.

When he killed, he killed with pride and honor.

Every creature, every invading knight that dared to threaten Astora met their ends at the touch of his sword.

There was no mercy, no second thoughts, just a dance of swords and a rain of blood.

And yet, no matter how many victories he obtained, his accomplishments would always remain unsung, for elite knights could never claim any glory to their own names. They were sacrifices, admired and respected as a whole, but unknown and insignificant on their own, like the threads of a carpet.

Oscar had once believed his duty was enough, that the love his people gave him as an elite knight was the perfect substitute for the legendary glory he had wished for himself since childhood.

He had thought wrong, and so he had become growingly obsessed with the Undead prophecy with every passing day.

It had reached the point where he had felt almost euphoric when the Darksign—

_No, don’t think of that either._

He fled and found another memory.

He was in the company of his fellow elite knights again.

They were a generous number.

They formed a circle.

Together, they witnessed a rowdy show happening at the center.

Bear-baiting perhaps?

Oscar looked closer.

He saw Solaire, covered in blood, with his sunlight sword in hand, surrounded by corpses of Undead dogs as three of those beasts growled and snarled at him. His injuries were serious and he trembled with exhaustion, but he continued to fight.

The elite knights laughed and cheered at him.

Oscar was silent.

He had turned his back on the whole thing and then—

_No._

A new memory.

He stood alone, surrounded by the shredded corpses of many of his fellow elite knights. An Undead abomination that had successfully infiltrated Astora. It jumped towards him and managed to land a hit on his shoulder. The stab had pierced Oscar’s chainmail, flesh and bone alike.

_I couldn’t save them. Not even one of them._

He fled from that memory as if it was a starved dragon ready to engulf him with its maws agape.

But there was no true escape from the darkness ofhis past.

He had been a fool to believe his past was any less painful than his present.

And yet, every pain it caused him was compensated by a flow of warmth and satisfaction born from the happiness he’d once known.

He’d suffered, he’d known loss, death and pain.

But he’d also known camaraderie, pride, bravery and fulfillment.

They were not things he could allow himself to forget.

They were not something he could give up.

Slowly, he calmed down.

He focused, determined to be more careful this time while traveling the currents of his broken memories.

He was about to search for one worthy of his time when a distant roar shattered his trance.

He returned to his senses and found himself lying down on the floor, with his face touching cold stone and his forehead soaked in sweat. He remained still, numbed and confused of his surroundings until the distant echo of a clash of swords urged him to react.

Another scream, full of anger and despair.

“Solaire.”

Oscar was back on his feet before Solaire’s voice faded into the air.

The silence that followed sunk his heart to the floor.

“Solaire!”

He picked up his Estus flask, put it away on one of his bags and unsheathed his sword. The cold air of the burg crashed against his face as he ran to where Solaire was.

Injured, agonizing.

Dead.

Either by the sword of the Black knight, or at Lautrec’s treacherous hands.

Oscar’s grief and anger became a single sentiment. 

He would kill them.

He would make them pay for what they had done.

* * *

Lautrec had bought ten throwing knives and five firebombs for himself.

He had also bought some strange items the merchant had claimed were _‘from his secret and most exclusive stash, just recently acquired and traded to him by a magician from a distant land’_.

Solaire had heard the offer but he had not been interested, and so he had walked away to a corner to inspect his own purchases while Lautrec continued to do business with the merchant.

He had acquired a generous amount of repair powder for Oscar, as well as a couple of firebombs. His most relished acquisition however, had been an orange soapstone, identical to his own except for its color and its use.

According to the merchant, the orange soapstone was made of the same material the first of the Undeads and some of the gods had used to leave behind messages with vital information.

Perhaps the same Undeads and gods Petrus had mentioned.

Solaire had been skeptical at first, but it had taken very little time and arguments to convince him.

Lautrec had mocked him for his _silly and useless_ purchase, but Soilare did not regret his decision.

_Though maybe a little test wouldn’t do any harm._

He looked over his shoulder to make sure Lautrec wasn’t looking, and then he wrote down a small message on the wall with the soapstone.

_Merchant ahead._

It was not precisely the most original of messages, and it was too obvious to be truly useful to any other Undead, but it was the only thing Solaire could think of.

He was glad to see the letters left behind by the soapstone shone bright and legible. He scrubbed his hands over it, and the soapstone did not fade.

That was good. It proved his purchase had not been a scam.

On the other hand, it was bad, as he had no way to erase or hide his simple message before Lautrec returned to him after finishing his dealings with the merchant.

“It seems we are done here. Shall we go back to Oscar?” He said to Solaire, who was desperately trying to hide his message behind his body. “Are you alright? What are you hiding? Let me see.”

“No.” Solaire spread his arm to keep Lautrec away. Then, trying to sound as calm as possible, he added. “It’s nothing. I was just scratching my back against the wall. You know how difficult it can be to get rid of an itch only with your nails when you are wearing thick chainmail.”

“Yes, that makes sense.”

“Really?”

“No.”

Lautrec then forcefully pulled him away from the wall. Solaire looked away, his face burning red with embarrassment under his helmet as Lautrec laughed as he read the message.

The merchant stared at them, and he too chuckled, though Solaire doubted he knew the true reason behind Lautrec’s laughter.

“Why, Solaire.” Lautrec said. “I didn’t know you were a poet. Do you pretend to be an idiot just to conceal the genius you are underneath? Well, you sure fooled me.”

He continued laughing. Solaire tried to join him, but no sound would escape his chest.

Lautrec indulged a long while in his mockery. When he finally stopped, Solaire’s humiliation had started to border into anger.

“I’m just joking.” Lautrec roughly patted his shoulder. “You know this, right?”

“At times, I’m not sure I do.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You are Astoran, after all.” Lautrec give him a friendly push that only dragged Solaire closer to real anger. “Let’s get going then, before Oscar gets mad at us for leaving him waiting for so long. One whinny Astoran is enough, I don’t need two.”

The silence between them as they left the merchant’s domain was tense, but Solaire felt no need to ease it, and neither did Lautrec.

Solaire didn’t understand what drove Lautrec to be so needlessly taunting and cruel all the time. He tried to justify his endless mockery as _‘knightly diversion’,_ and while it was true knights commonly regarded each other with a level of rough treatment, it usually was good-natured.

And little of what Lautrec said or did felt like well-intended jests. He spared no mercy on Solaire, but it was Oscar who had been the target of his most heartless observations.

Solaire had not intervened, believing Oscar was indeed used to that sort of treatment after his years among the elite knights. They could be as ruthless as they were selfless, and Solaire knew it better than anyone.

_Oscar._

He thought of his friend and of how he had laughed together with Lautrec when he had mocked Oscar about his Hollowing.

Solaire wanted to believe he had done so out of a moment of weakness where he had found Lautrec’s jest amusing, but he knew it wasn’t true.

A part of him had done so only to spite Oscar, to get a reaction out of him.

In its purest form, it had been a childish attempt to get his attention.

His anger for Lautrec paled in comparison to the shame he felt for his treatment of Oscar.

Solaire did not hate his friend. He was disappointed on him, angry even, but he doubted he could ever bring himself to hate him, no matter what happened between them.

But he knew Oscar hated him.

His silence and the absolute indifference he showed Solaire were clear evidence of how much he resented him for having brought discord into their friendship with his pesky morals and self-righteousness.

_I am a Warrior of Sunlight. I cannot turn my back on my beliefs._

Solaire sighed.

_Oscar... why don’t you get rid of that ring? Do it and everything between us can go back to what it was. Why do you cling to it? Why is your past so important to you? Do you really treasure it more than your present?_

It was a concept foreign to Solaire, to look back at one’s past and sigh for it with wistfulness and nostalgia.

“Would you stop moping around like a child that has been denied some sweets? It’s getting on my nerves.” Lautrec said as he stopped and turned around to face Solaire. “I know what’s troubling you, and it’s pathetic. For how long do you and Oscar plan to cry about your little fight, Solaire? If you’re friendship with him is ruined, then it’s ruined. It’s gone, and no amount of sulking will make it right. Besides, I don’t understand why you mourn a friendship as poor as the one he offered you.”

“His friendship is not poor.” Solaire retorted, taking a step closer to Lautrec. “You know nothing of all he’s done for me. He has showed me more kindness than any other person has in my life. I may be angry at him, but I will not be disloyal to him.”

He took one step closer to Lautrec, and the Carim knight backed away slightly.

“And I will not let you badmouth him again, Lautrec. You consider us pathetic for our sentimentality, but I consider you pitiful for mistaking derision with self-confidence.”

“Hmm, yes... I had forgotten how fond Astorans are of their motivational speeches. It’s not as annoying as the Vinheimer tendency to educate others, but it’s not too far behind.”

Lautrec patted Solaire once on the chest, right on the painted sun of his tunic. He walked him by, completely unafraid of the potential attack Solaire could have prepared for him.

“Very well, if my jokes are so hurtful for your and Oscar’s sensitive hearts, I’ll do my best to keep my tongue in check from now on. Please, to try to understand, Solaire. Carim knights live a solitary existence. We have only our ladies to make us company, and friendship is not a concept we openly practice, let alone with other knights. This whole camaraderie we are sharing is new to me. I was in the wrong, and I apologize. When we return to Oscar, I’ll apologize to him as well. What do you say? Are we good?”

Lautrec offered him his hand.

Solaire smiled from behind his helmet, and his anger towards Lautrec faded into nothingness.

“We’re good.” He said as he and Lautrec shook hands.

If only it was Oscar with whom he was so easily reconciliating with and not Lautrec.

The idea twisted his stomach and formed a lump in his throat.

“Still, as your friend, I feel obligated to tell you this, Solaire,” Lautrec continued, “the way Oscar treats you is... demeaning. Well-intentioned, yes, but so very condescending. Now, I may not be an expert on friendship, but I know that nothing good can come from knights that don’t respect each other.”

Just when Solaire had started to think things would run smoothly, Lautrec had to put his finger on the wound.

“But you know this, don’t you? Isn’t it the reason you were so determined to fight the Black knight? To prove to Oscar you don’t his constant coddling?”

The Black knight.

Solaire had almost forgotten about him.

Truth was he had not wanted to fight him, and he had only mentioned him to lure Lautrec away from Oscar for a moment, so they both could cool down their tempers before they harmed each other.

But when Oscar had forbidden them to get close to the Black knight, Solaire’s temper had flared, and he had become determined to fight and defeat the knight, if only to show Oscar he was not bound to his commands and that he was skilled enough to defeat a powerful foe on his own.

He had fumed and raged in silence as he'd left Oscar behind, but his tranquil moment of shopping and his acquisition of his new orange soapstone had cleansed him of his anger and quelled his thirst for foolish battles.

Now that Lautrec had brought it up again, Solaire felt trapped.

“Solaire, listen to me. Oscar does not respect you. He may hold you in high regard as his friend and as a person, but you are nothing to him as a knight. Unless this changes, your relationship with him will be doomed to conflict. Knights that don’t respect each other will always end up spilling each other’s blood.”

“He respects me as a knight. I’ve proven my worth in battle each time I’ve fought by his side.” Solaire said, standing tall as the memories of his failures gnawed at his mind.

His death caused by his carelessness and the Hellkite dragon’s fire.

His failed attempts to parry the Belfry gargoyles.

His defeat at the hands of Petrus and Reah’s bodyguards.

All shameful mistakes Oscar had witnessed.

Lautrec’s words no longer sounded deceptive.

But it was foolish.

Was his need to prove his value as a knight worthy of the risk of dying again?

“Defeat the Black knight and bring his head back to Oscar, Solaire.” Lautrec continued, his grey eyes dull and sharp under his golden helmet. “Show him you are not his subordinate or his squire. You are a true Astoran knight, a powerful Warrior of Sunlight. Only then he will respect you, and who knows, maybe then he’ll listen to you and get rid of that ring.”

* * *

Lautrec had not been especially interested in fighting the Black knight. He had played for a moment with the idea while doing business with the merchant, but he would have gladly pretended he had forgotten about it if Solaire made no further mention of it either.

He was always eager and hungry for a good fight, but only if it was against foes and victims that would yield him something of value.

What could a Black knight possibly offer him? Some pieces of titanite and possibly a shabby sword or a shield.

He had no need for any of it.

Besides, he knew he wouldn’t be able to properly enjoy the thrill of battle if Solaire fought by his side.

If they battled the Black knight together, Lautrec knew it would be him who would do all the work. Solaire would only get in his way, and he did not like to fight while worrying about someone’s else sake.

It was not something one would expect from a knight of Carim, but it had been too long since he had last been the keeper of any lady that wasn’t his beloved Fina; he couldn’t remember was it was to protect someone anymore.

Lautrec would have gladly returned to Oscar so they could continue their journey to the Depths, but Solaire had not opted for this road.

He had confronted him, and while Lautrec had felt a new sense of respect for him , Solaire had also made him mad.

Lautrec had not appreciated the words he’d thrown at him.

Not one bit.

“There he is.” Lautrec cocked his head as soon as he and Solaire descended the stone stairs.

In front of them, standing still across a rock tunnel, a tall and imposing figure showed them his immense and armored back, black as a raven’s feather.

The sword he wielded was broad and dull, but Lautrec knew its edges would be sharp enough to cut through chainmail as if it was butter.

Now that he saw the Black knight in person and at such a close distance, he began to have doubts about how high his chances of success would have been if he had battled him.

It was not that he doubted his own skills, but he knew there were times when one had to be bold, and other times when one had the be cautious to survive.

Reckless bravery was as admirable as it was impractical.

It was a shame Solaire seemed to be so ignorant of this piece of basic knightly wisdom.

Then again, that wasn’t Lautrec's problem.

“Go on.” He told Solaire, giving him a small push towards the Black knight. “He is all yours.”

Solaire did not hesitate, and as much Lautrec hated to admit it, there was something laudable in his courage and determination.

For a brief second, he wondered if perhaps he had been overly harsh in his punishment of Solaire.

The poor idiot had thrown some insults at him, and Lautrec had counterattacked by sending him to his death at the hands of a Black knight.

Black knights were merciless, and they were not known for giving their victims a quick and merciful death. 

The narrow space of the rock tunnel would also be a poor battlefield for Solaire.

“I—”

Lautrec shook his head and swallowed the rest of his sentence.

Solaire was already too far away from him and too close to the Black knight.

It was out of his control now. Whatever befell Solaire was not something he could change, and he would not intervene either.

Though the whole thing was little more than a cruel prank for Lautrec, he could tell it was a meaningful test of knightly worth for Solaire.

He would not disgrace the poor bastard by interrupting his fight, and if he was to die, Lautrec would allow him to do so with honor.

_That is if he doesn’t go Hollow._

He sat down on the stairs and rested his elbows on his thighs, no half as amused by the whole fiasco as he thought he would be.

_What a waste. Watching him fight Oscar would have been much more entertaining that seeing him being butchered like a calf. I did not think this through._

He watched as Solaire purposefully hit the floor with his sword, earning to himself the attention of the Black knight.

_Stupid._

Solaire could have backstabbed him and inflicted a considerable amount of damage to the knight; instead, he had opted to fight him under the Astoran code of honor that demanded both knights to be equally prepared before the fight started.

The fool even had the gall to bow his head to the Black knight.

_Is he crazy?_

The Black knight replied in the only way Lautrec knew he would: by throwing a riposte at Solaire that was clumsily reflected by his round shield.

He had attempted to parry him.

And he had failed.

Meanwhile, Lautrec kept on looking, and soon his mind became so immersed in the savage fight that his faint regrets were forgotten, never to be remembered again.

* * *

“Hello?”

He tried to unlock the door, but it would not move.

“Is someone there? Can you hear me?”

Only a Hollow, one that still remember it had been a thief in its previous life, answered by stabbing the door with a dagger.

Griggs gasped and jumped back.

He retreated into a corner.

How could he have been so careless?

Him, a skilled magician, an effective spy and trained assassin, trapped inside an empty and dirty room at the slums of a forgotten Undead city.

“What will I do now?”

He collapsed to the floor.

“Master Logan.”


	27. Hurtful declarations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading, leaving kudos and to Inedible and Mrs Littletall for the comments!
> 
> I'll try to update again this sunday. 
> 
> Hope you like the chapter!

_At first, I had only nightmares._

_Nightmares filled with memories_

_Memories I wished I could have forgotten._

_Memories of the times when I had a name._

_I forgot them all._

_Now, I have only emptiness and myself._

_But who am I?_

_A nameless Undead, a willing prisoner in a forgotten asylum, a fateless wretch._

_And hopefully, a soon-to-be Hollow._

_I can feel it coming._

_The Hollowing._

_It is taking me._

_At last, I’ll finally be able to rest and let go of this useless life._

_What could be more beautiful than to be free of it?_

_To mingle with nothingness forever and forget about everything._

_I remember some of the other prisoners; how they sought comfort on their pasts or clung hopefully to their future._

_I could do neither, but still I tried to imitate them, hoping I would end up as Hollow and insane as they all did, but it was in vain._

_Nothing I did ever brought me closer to Hollowing._

_What my body so easily achieved, my mind refused to accomplish._

_I never saw any results, not even when I copied those that killed themselves time after time on their cells until they woke up Hollow and were killed._

_I always woke up at the bonfire with my mind intact._

_The guards would then drag back into my cell._

_After they left and the outside world abandoned us, I kept trying._

_Each time, I returned willingly to my cell._

_I still try it sometimes, but not so often anymore._

_It doesn’t seem to work._

_No matter what I do, I am still here._

_Rotten, decayed, but I am._

_I don’t want to be._

_I don’t want to survive any longer._

_How I wish to join the others on their deaths._

_At the very least, I want to join them on their Hollowing._

_I wonder if they know how lucky they are._

_Probably not._

_I hope not._

_Of course they don’t!_

_How stupid of me._

_Hollows can’t feel or think anything._

_Some say Hollows are mad with fear, as if eternally drunk with their darkest emotions; but what do they know?_

_Hollows cannot speak, and the living cannot understand their actions._

_I don’t care what they say, I won’t believe them._

_Hollows feel no fear._

_Hollows feel nothing at all._

_Hollows are insane, cruel and savage._

_And they are free._

_They have let go._

_And soon, I will let go too._

_I can feel it coming._

_The Hollowing._

_My Hollowing._

_Nothing will stop it now._

_I know I have been saying this for years, but this time, it will finally happen._

_I think I should stop writing, if tracing my finger on the dirty floor can be considered writing to begin with._

_Hollows do not write._

_As a soon-to-be Hollow, I’d better start acting like one._

_-_ **An invisible message written by a nameless Undead at Northern Asylum, just before a corpse fell from the roof and landed an inch away from their finger.**

* * *

His blood had painted his body red. 

His shoulder bled no less abundantly, the chainmail broken and tattered there where the Black knight’s sword had landed.

It had been the first hit Solaire had received, right after his parrying attempt had failed. It was a reminder of how close he had been to losing his arm.

It was an awful thought.

He tried to keep it at bay and focus on the battle, but the pain of his wounds and the hopelessness of his situation made it almost impossible.

He had tried to compensate for his shameful initial mistake and turn the battle to his favor with clever tactics, but the Black knight was a powerful and ruthless enemy.

The swings of his dark sword cut cleanly through the chainmail as if it was silk; the bashes of his shield left Solaire breathless, depleted of stamina and barely able to hold his position.

The narrow space of the tunnel gave Solaire little room to maneuver, and it didn’t take long before he was reduced to a fully defensive stance.

He stood his ground and held his shield with all his strength, waiting for the Black knight to exhaust himself so he could counterattack, but the knight’s stamina had not dwindled at all.

Each strike that fell on Solaire’s round shield felt as strong as the first.

His bleeding shoulder exploded in a burst of wet pain at every hit. Underneath his helmet, his face was soaked in sweat, his teeth bared as he struggled to resist the shower of attacks of the Black knight.

Solaire knew he was not the most skilled of warriors, but he was resistant and strong.

It was seldom a foe had ever tired him.

He had employed this talent well and frequently back in Astora. He even dared to say his remarkable endurance was the only quality that had made him worthy of knighthood.

Even when he was unable to kill his enemies, he could distract them for as long as needed until another warrior or knight arrived to finish them off.

But now, it was useless.

No one would help him.

He was alone.

Oscar was not there, and even if he could hear the clash of swords that came from the fight, Solaire doubted he would come to his aid.

Oscar was a kind man, but he was not a fool.

What reason would he have to save Solaire?

He had become nothing but burden to Oscar, a needless source of grief.

Who would want such a useless companion?

_Oscar._

The Black knight bashed him with his shield again.

Solaire’s arm, long pushed beyond its limits, finally gave in.

The Black knight’s shield pierced through his defenses and crashed against Solaire’s ribcage.

The chainmail offered him all the protection it could, but it did nothing to stop Solaire’s feet from leaving the floor.

He heard two cracks coming from his torso, right where the ancient dark shield of the Black knight had hit him. A light blinded him, and the pain of his broken ribs and bleeding shoulder became a single agony that made him scream as soon as his back touched the floor again.

His sight went from absolute white to completely black.

He regained his senses and found himself still lying on the ground. He could hear the steps of the Black knight as he approached him.

Solaire took a deep breath, his torso aching each time he inhaled.

Someone other than the knight moved nearby.

_Lautrec._

Solaire had forgotten the knight of Carim was still there, witnessing his pathetic excuse for a fight. True to the traditions of his homeland, Lautrec had offered him no help.

Solaire doubted he would offer him any aid now.

He did not resent him.

He did not want him to help him.

All Solaire could feel when thinking about him was shame.

He had made a fool out of himself in front of Lautrec, just like he had done many times before in front of Oscar.

Just like he had always failed in front of the elite knights.

_Not this time._

Solaire tried to stand on his feet, but his body remained anchored to the ground by the weight of his injuries, his chainmail, and his weapons.

It had been long since he had felt so utterly betrayed and abandoned by his body.

It had only happened once.

Solaire remembered it clearly, much to his disgrace.

It had happened shortly after he had been awarded knighthood on the battlefield after a bloody battle in which dozens of Carim soldiers and some pyromancers of the Great Swamp had perished at the touch of his sword and miracles.

He had felt so proud of himself, but he had failed to impress anyone else. Being granted knighthood on the battlefield was hardly an honor, as it was often considered a desperate tactic meant to increase the number of knights if many had been recently slain.

It was not an acknowledgement of one’s achievements or talents, only a meaningless gesture where soldiers were randomly picked and made into knights, if just to deceive other nations and kingdoms into thinking that Astora’s forces remained always strong.

Yet, despite the poor glory his knighthood had offered him at first, Solaire had not felt ashamed of it at all.

And it was perhaps that, blinded by his delusion and childish enthusiasm of finally becoming a knight, Solaire had eventually gathered enough courage to try to join the elite knights.

He had waited until he’d had a few victories attached to his name, believing it would make his knighthood seem respectable and legitimately earned to the eyes of the elites.

They had seldom been kind to him, but he had trusted they would be fair on their judgement and give him a chance to prove himself.

But when his so-called _test_ had become just another chance for them to humiliate him and rejoice in his failures, Solaire had realized he had acted like a fool once more.

To them, he had always been nothing but a clown.

But that time had been different.

The elite knights had not only taken his hopes and shaped them into a farce they could laugh at; they had almost ended his life.

The Black knight was only a few steps away from him now. The clinking of his boots came in harmony with the growls of the Undead dogs that resonated inside Solaire’s mind.

His test had been simple.

A couple of elite knights had led him to a circular high-fenced area.

Solaire knew them.

He had carried out small tasks for that pair before, such as polishing their equipment or shoeing their horses. They had always been condescending to him, but that time, they had treated Solaire with respect.

They had explained to him he was to wait there until the rest of the elite knights arrived to witness his performance in battle. If Solaire impressed at least half of them, he would be accepted among their ranks.

Solaire’s heart had been so full of pride and excitement. He had hugged the two elite knights, thanking them for giving him a chance.

Kindly, they had assured him they knew he would perform well, and that they were looking forward to becoming his comrades and brothers in arms.

Once everything was ready and countless of eyes were watching him from underneath their helmets, the test had begun.

Solaire had expected a fair fight against one of the elites, one that would end not with death, but with a shaking of hands and the kindling of a prosperous camaraderie.

Instead, what he’d received were endless hordes of rabid Undead dogs. The elite knights threw the savage and cursed animals at him in large groups, and they gave him no time to rest in between each round.

Solaire had not complained or protested. He would not run away from the chance he had dreamed of all his life. 

Even after his body bled from head to toe because of the bites and clawing injuries, he had continued fighting.

He had lost count of how many rounds had passed, and the initial cheering and laughter of the elites had long faded.

Solaire, afraid he had failed to impress them and were thinking of putting an end to his test, had demanded more enemies.

It hadn’t mattered that his sword was blunt after so much killing or that the flesh of one of his legs was exposed to the bone after a dog had taken a deep bite.

Solaire had been decided to not give up.

Death had been preferable than to fail so shamefully in front of most of the elite knights of Astora.

Thus, he had managed to stand up and face the only enemy they had in store for him.

One Undead dog.

If he had managed to defeat it, then the elites would have had no reason to refuse him.

He would have joined them.

Solaire would have proved not only to others, but also to himself that all his efforts had been worthwhile; that regardless of the lack of faith everyone had always had on him, he had bloomed into a full-fledged warrior and knight.

He would have, by his own merit, become an elite knight.

But then, someone had intervened.

An elite knight had jumped into the pit and killed the Undead dog before Solaire had had the chance to move.

Enraged by the unwanted help and by the loss of his once-in-a-lifetime chance, Solaire had tried to attack the meddler.

He had taken one step closer to the elite knight before collapsing to the floor.

He remembered the elite knight coming to his side and carrying him to safety while also fiercely scolding his comrades for their despicable behavior.

Solaire had passed out shortly after, and so had ended his final and greatest humiliation at the hands of the elites.

He’d never discovered the name of the knight that had saved his life. 

He knew he should have been grateful, but it was impossible for him to remember the incident and feel something else other than shame and resentment.

Tears of rage stung his eyes.

Solaire clenched his jaw and held tightly the handle of his round shield and the hilt of his sunlight sword.

The tools of a knight and a warrior.

At that moment, he felt like neither.

He had failed and made a fool out of himself again.

He wallowed in his self-pity and only snapped out of it when the Black knight stood tall by his side, his large and dark sword looming over him like a vulture.

The Black knight wouldn’t kill him yet.

Solaire knew it well.

Just like the Hollows and any crazed Undead creature did, the knight would take his time maiming him before finally ending his life.

The Undead dogs had been the same. They had been more eager to make him bleed and taste chunks of his flesh than interested in killing him.

Old humiliation mixed with his present disgrace, and together they became a raw, blinding fury that numbed the pain and gave Solaire a wild lust for destruction.

_I can’t let it happen again._

His fingers holding his sword swiftly jolted to the amulet hanging limply on his belting.

The Black knight reacted instantly and sent a powerful stab aimed at Solaire’s arm, but the steel of his blade met with the painted sun of the round shield instead.

Staggered by the abrupt clash and the unmeasured strength of his own attack, the Black knight remained unguarded for a slim moment.

_I am not a clown. I’m not an idiot._

Solaire put the talisman close to his mouth and muttered the olden tale of Lord Gwyn and his firstborn.

_I am a knight._

A tingling warmth filled his hand, and without thinking it twice, he threw the lighting energy directly at the helmet of the Black knight.

The scorched creature screamed with his inhuman voice.

And for the first time during their battle, he backed away, disoriented as threads of yellow power travelled across his helmet and spread to his body.

_I am a Warrior of Sunlight!_

Solaire stood up.

His wounds would not forgive him for the harsh and extreme treatment he was giving to his body, and it would punish him with endless pain once the moment of bloodlust had passed.

Solaire didn’t care.

As long as his body served him well and allowed him to kill the Black knight, he would accept any payback it gave to him later.

Panting heavily, Solaire readied his sword and amulet on one hand and his round shield on the other.

The Black knight stood at a decent distance away from him, fully recovered from the unexpected attack Solaire had thrown at him.

It had not been a complete and powerful miracle. 

Solaire needed only to gaze at the Black knight to know his lighting spear had been a faint and pathetic thing, only a shadow of the true power the olden tale of Gwyn and his son was meant to convey.

The happiness and hope he had started to feel at the return of his miracles became lost at the second realization that followed: The Black knight had not been truly injured by his attack, only surprised.

_It doesn’t matter. I can still fight. I can still kill him._

Solaire roared and charged at the Black knight. His legs allowed him to take only a couple of steps forward before he collapsed to the floor again.

He had barely touched the ground when Solaire once again tried to get up, but this time his body was unresponsive and beyond his reach.

_Estus._

Solaire thought with despair as the raging flame within him started to dwindle. In his eagerness to prove himself, he had forgotten to be practical.

He had opted for attacking instead of healing himself.

A mistake proper of novices and pages.

Not one a true knight would ever make.

_This is the biggest of my ridicules._

Solare closed his eyes and chided himself for his stupidity as the Black knight, enraged by being taken off guard, charged at Solaire with a metallic roar.

Solaire found comfort in Oscar’s absence. At least his friend had been spared from witnessing his shameful battle and defeat.

Just when Solaire had resigned himself to a long and painful death that could turn him Hollow, he heard steps coming from behind him.

_Lautrec._

As if his humiliation wasn’t great enough already, he had performed so poorly in battle that he had awakened pity in the heart of a Carim knight.

Solaire sunk in his embarrassment, incapable of feeling any gratitude for Lautrec, just as he had never felt gratitude for the nameless knight that had saved his life back in Astora.

Deep down, he felt guilty too.

Lautrec would die at the hands of the Black knight he had enraged.

It would all be his fault.

_Forgive me._

Lautrec passed running next to him.

Solaire opened his eyes to gaze at the knight through the slit of his helmet. The golden shine of his armor was not what he saw; instead, what his eyes looked at were the grey chainmail and the faded blue tone, now more akin to a reddish color, of an elite knight’s tattered tunic and armor.

Solaire felt as if time had stopped for him.

The shame brewing inside him reached its boiling point, and it was only comparable with the anguish he felt as he listened to the engaging battle he couldn’t see.

Oscar and the Black knight battled to the death, the violent song of their swords filling the air of the narrow tunnel.

Driven by his need to know the fate of his friend, Solaire made on last effort to raise himself from the ground.

His hands were held by someone before he had the chance to move.

Against his will and struggling to break free, Solaire was pulled away from the scene by Lautrec, back to the safety of the nearby stairs.

The wound on Solaire’s shoulder opened wider at Lautrec’s harsh treatment. He couldn’t hold back a scream, but it was swallowed by the chaos of the fight between Oscar and the Black knight.

Once they were away from the ongoing conflict, Lautrec took Solaire’s helmet off with little care and forcefully fed him Estus from his own flask. More than being healed by a comrade, Solaire felt as if he was being poisoned by an enemy. 

“Drink, you goddamn fool.” Lautrec sneered at him, covering Solaire’s nose and mouth and forcing him to swallow. “You don’t have the luxury to die right now.”

Lautrec then pulled Solaire up and made him sit down with his back completely straight. He helped him by holding his shoulders with an arm as he knelt next to Solaire and watched the fight together with him.

“You must witness what you’ve caused and hope that Oscar can finish what you couldn’t. And if he fails, then you must witness his death.”

Lautrec’s held him with the strength of iron chains.

Solaire watched the battle unfold before him and felt his heart bleed with impotence, shame, and fury.

* * *

Oscar came out victorious from the battle, but not unscathed.

The Black knight had sliced a deep cut on his right forearm, and one of the bashes he had thrown at him with his shield had almost broken Oscar’s wrist.

The injury pulsed and hurt as if his gauntlet was covered with fire.

Oscar knelt on a knee and used his sword as support while he tried to catch his breath. The Black knight laid before him, now only a corpse that would soon fade into the wind, with his sword and shield still caught in the grip of his stiff hands.

Defeating him had dragged Oscar dangerously close to a new death.

It had taken three parries and powerful ripostes to finally snuff the life off the ancient knight. It had also costed Oscar all his stamina, and had the battle been prolonged any further, he was sure the outcome would have been much grimmer for him, Solaire and Lautrec.

_Solaire._

He stood up even though he was far from being recovered and went as quickly as he could to Solaire’s side.

Lautrec was sitting besides him, whispering something to Solaire in the ear.

Oscar hated him more than ever, and he would have considered killing him at that moment if Lautrec hadn’t dragged Solaire to safety as he had told him to do.

Still, that small kindness did not change what Lautrec had done.

Nothing.

He had done nothing.

He had merely watched as Solaire was brutally attacked and almost butchered by the Black knight.

“Oh, look who’s here.” Lautrec exclaimed, bowing his head to Oscar with feign and derogatory courtesy. “Our hero. Didn’t I tell you, Solaire? Oscar would finish what you, in your incompetence, couldn’t.”

Lautrec laughed.

At least, he tried.

Oscar did not give him the chance.

He snapped off Lautrec’s helmet with a swift swing of his sword. Lautrec had tried to evade it, but Oscar was faster.

Once his conniving and mocking face was exposed, Oscar had pulled Lautrec up by the neck and slammed his fist on his cheek. He felt and heard how the bone of his cheekbone almost broke under his fingers.

Lautrec fell to his side but got back up with a nimble maneuver, a dagger already on his hand.

He glared at Oscar, his teeth glowing red as the cut inside his mouth continued to bleed.

“How dare you attack Lautrec the Embraced.” Lautrec’s voice sounded nothing like it had done before. “You will regret this, you fucking Astoran.”

“If it is a fight to the death you so much want, then I’ll gladly give it to you.” Oscar said, putting himself in front of Solaire to shield him from any attack Lautrec threw at them. “You deserve it after what you’ve done!”

“What I’ve done?” Lautrec’s anger flickered into amusement. He gave Oscar a crimson grin as a hoarse and slow chuckle emerged from his chest. “I’ve done nothing other than treating your beloved Solaire like the true knight he is, not like the defenseless maiden you mistake him for. Yes, Oscar, I offered him no help during his fight, and I do not regret it at all. I would have never robbed him of his honor as cruelly as you have.”

“You’re a coward.” Oscar stated, leaving Lautrec aghast for the first time. “Hide behind the traditions of your homeland as much as you want, but you can’t fool me. You didn’t help Solaire because you were too busy rusting your golden armor with your own piss.”

Anger returned to Lautrec’s face and turned his pale skin red. Oscar prepared himself to deflect his incoming attack.

Lautrec’s nostrils flared as if he was a raging bull. His piercing eyes jolted from Oscar to Solaire, and a smile adorned his bloody lips.

Before Oscar had the chance to look at the source of his amusement, he was pulled down by the wrist by Solaire. His friend roughly used him as support to get back on his feet.

Oscar had to bite his tongue to keep his grunts silent. Solaire had grabbed him by his injured wrist, the same the Black knight had almost broken.

Oscar tried to help him to get up faster, but Solaire refused his aid.

Once he was standing up, he stared deeply at Oscar.

“Lautrec is right.” He said. “I did not need your help.”

He left Oscar behind with his mouth agape and went towards the stairs. He managed to climb three of them, his legs tense from the exhaustion and pain he tried so desperate to conceal, before he tripped and fell.

Oscar immediately rushed to his side while Lautrec laughed behind their backs.

“Let’s get you to the bonfire.” Oscar said as he put one of Solaire’s arm around his shoulders. “Your injuries are serious, but they’re nothing some Estus and a moment of rest can’t—”

Solaire easily freed his arm. Then, he pushed Oscar away from him, with enough force to make Oscar fall down the stairs and land on his back.

The fall did not hurt, but it left Oscar perplexed.

When his eyes and Solaire’s eyes met again, he saw nothing but resentment in them.

“I don’t need your help.” Solaire repeated, his entire body trembling as it was forced to carry his weight again. “Not back in Astora, and not now.”

“Solaire.”

“I am a knight, Oscar.” Solaire said as he continued his path up the stone stairs. “Regardless of what you may think of me. Had you not interfered, I would have proved it to you.”

“Had I not interfered, you would have died.” Oscar replied with the same tone he had used while talking to Lautrec.

“Maybe I should have.” Solaire said, glaring at Oscar over his shoulder as he reached the last step. “Perhaps dying would have been a better fate than to be saved by you.”

The words left Oscar speechless.

Solaire left, dragging his sword, helmet and shield together with him.

Oscar remained cold and still where he stood, his heartbeat ringing loudly in his ears.

“That was needlessly cruel of him, wouldn’t you agree?” Lautrec said after clicking his tongue. “Some people just don’t know how to appreciate kindness. But don’t be too angry at Solaire, Oscar. He is just a sensitive man with a battered ego. I’m sure you know how awful of a combination that is for you Astorans. Let him heal his wounds and cool down his temper. I’m sure he’ll see reason after he spends a moment of solitude by the bonfire... and if he doesn’t, well, what can I say? Some friendships are not meant to last.”

“This is your doing.” Oscar snapped at Lautrec, who was now standing next to him. He stepped away from the Carim knight and pointed his sword at him. “You poisoned his mind against me, like the treacherous snake you are.”

“Poisoned? If by it you mean that I told him the truth behind your treatment of him, then yes, I did poison Solaire with my venomous honesty.”

“We never should have trusted you. You are not our ally anymore, Lautrec. You shall follow us no longer.”

“That’s my choice to make, not yours. And by _‘us’_ , I hope you don’t mean Solaire, Oscar. At this point, I doubt he even wants to look at you in the face, let alone travel together with you. See, this is what I mean, my dear elite knight. You always take Solaire for granted, don’t you? I noticed it from the first time I met you. He follows you around like a lap dog no matter what you do to him. You condescend him; you treat him like an incompetent page, you lie to him. Do not fool yourself. All of this is your doing, Oscar, not mine.”

Lautrec walked towards Oscar unarmed.

He grabbed the visor of Oscar’s helmet and pulled it down.

_The ring._

It was only then that he became aware that he had never taken the trinket off.

“You are not a good man, Oscar.” Lautrec told him. “It’s time you accepted it and stopped lying to yourself and Solaire, don’t you agree?”

Oscar couldn’t answer.

Lautrec left the same way Solaire had done, but unlike him, he did not give Oscar a second glance over his shoulder.

Oscar was left alone with nothing but his foolishness and the fading corpse of the Black knight.

He twisted the ring under the leather of his gauntlet, and wondered how responsible it truly was of his falling out with Solaire, and of how ill-fated their friendship had been from the beginning.

* * *

_Look at him. He is wearing the ring again. He must have put it on as soon as we left. See, Solaire? He doesn’t respect you. Not as a knight nor as a friend. Your opinion is meaningless to him. He may save you yet again, but don’t kid yourself. He doesn’t do it for your sake. Oscar only does it to pander his own ego, to quench his need to play the hero. That’s the kind of man he is. All elite knights of Astora are the same. I know it well, and I know you do too._

Solaire poured another entire flask of Estus on his bleeding shoulder and hissed. It stung as alcohol, perhaps even more.

The open wound was slowly healing and closing, pushed into a quick recovery by the effects of the elixir and the flame of the bonfire. It burned brighter and warmer than the one back at Firelink Shrine.

Had Solaire been in a better mood, he would have happily spent some time guessing the reasons behind it, but he was too beaten of both mind and body to waste his time on mindless distractions.

He filled the flask again and drank it whole. The pain of his broken ribs was dulled almost instantly.

As the agony of his body faded, the torment of his mind became stronger and Lautrec’s words rang louder.

“Oscar.”

The name escaped his lips, and with it came the memories of his treatment of his friend.

How he had clung to his arm to get up, how he had pushed him away when he had only tried to help him.

And worst of all, the awful things he had said to him.

_How could I say something like that?_

Tears tried to leak from his eyes. Solaire wiped them off and put his helmet back on in case they escaped him.

It ended up being a good choice, for soon after Lautrec arrived at the bonfire. And a few moments later, so did Oscar.

Solaire felt the salty touch streaming down his cheeks as soon as his eyes found Oscar.

The three of them remained a while in absolute silence, each sitting around the bonfire and occupying their minds on their own business.

Lautrec cleaned his helmet and pressed an Estus soaked piece of cloth against his swollen cheek.

Oscar, with his face now fully hidden behind his helmet, whetted his sword.

Solaire looked at him discreetly as he continued healing his wounds.

His sadness clashed with the anger and the disappointment he felt towards his friend; some of it earned, some of it irrational and childish.

_Oscar, is it alright for us to travel together anymore? Even if that ring didn’t exist, all these sentiments that remain inside me would have not disappeared._

Solaire poured more Estus on his wound. This time, he felt no pain.

_I resent you. I've resented you long before I met you. And it shames me; yet, these feelings come naturally to me. Oscar, I am not a good man. I thought I was a forgiving soul, always willing to see the best of others regardless of their flaws... but look at how I’ve treated you. My friend. My only true friend._

Oscar looked up from his sword.

Solaire looked down before their gazes could meet.

“Let’s continue then.” Lautrec announced. “Come, before we waste any more of our time in this deafening silence.”

“Solaire’s wounds are not fully healed yet.” Oscar said, his voice once again reduced to its most awful form. “He needs more time.”

Solaire knew Oscar had pure intentions, but his anger, still raw from the storm of emotions that had trapped him during his battle with the Black knight, instantly flared at his words.

“I’m fine.” He stated firmly, standing up without showing any sign of weakness or pain. His ribs had stopped hurting, but his shoulder was far from being a scar. “Lautrec’s right. We have to move on.”

Oscar remained still with his whetstone on his hand. “Very well. If that’s what you wish, then I won’t stop you. Let’s get going then.”

“As if we were asking for your permission.” Lautrec spat at Oscar. “Astoran elite knights are so full of themselves.”

Solaire felt the impulse to intervene in his friend’s favor, but he stopped himself.

Instead, he wanted to go to Oscar’s side and try to offer him his hand to help him stand up, but Oscar got up on his own before Solaire could even approach him.

Solaire steeled his will and followed Oscar and Lautrec to the metallic set of stairs Oscar had managed to pull down.

Things between him and Oscar were not going to get any better, but still they had a journey ahead of them, full of dangers and enemies.

It was not the time for emotions.

If they were lucky and fate was kind, that would come later.

Solaire hoped it did.

He had faith it would.


	28. This is who you are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys!
> 
> Here I leave to you the longest chapter yet!  
> Thanks to everyone reading/leavig kudos and to Mrs Littletall for the comments :D Thanks for helping me figure out a scene in this chapter, friend :)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Lautrec had lied.

Oscar no longer expected any better from the Carim knight, he never truly had, but Solaire did. He could not see his face, concealed behind its heaume as it was, but he sensed his distress when the shortcut led them to the lower floor of the bridge guarded by the Hellkite Dragon.

“Oh.” Lautrec shrugged, breaking the gelid silence that had loomed over them.

They stared at the twitching red tail of the winged beast hanging limply against the facade of the parish.

“Well, this is unexpected. It seems our quest just got a lot more interesting.”

“You knew about this.” Oscar replied, his voice devoid of amusement. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, wrapping fingers around the handle. “You knew this shortcut would not lead us to the entrance to the lower parts of the burg.”

“I thought it would.” Lautrec moved in front of Oscar, a hand dangerously close to one of the shotel swords hanging from his hips. “And though it didn’t, it still led us closer to our destination. The entrance to the slums is just at the opposite side of the bridge, right in front of the parish. So, even if the shortcut didn’t take us directly to it, it already got us halfway through. All we need to do now to is to get there without letting the dragon burn us to ashes. Easy stuff.”

Lautrec spoke with contagious confidence. Oscar did not know if it was part of his bravado, or if he really found excitement in exposing himself to the dangers of a dragon.

Whichever the case, Oscar did not share his enthusiasm, and he knew that neither did Solaire.

After his awful and slow death caused by the injuries of the Hellkite’s fire, Oscar had no doubt Solaire was now mortally horrified of those dragons.

He felt nothing but sympathy and understanding for him.

As much as Solaire’s cruel words had upset him, Oscar was not going to let him face the threat of the Hellkite again. 

“There’s no need for us to take the risk of being burned alive.” Oscar said, removing his hand from his weapon. Lautrec, to his surprise, did the same. Calmer, he continued. “I think I know this entrance you talk about, Lautrec; if I recall correctly, it is a closed door. Solaire and I saw it when we first got here, after we defeated the Taurus Demon. We tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge.”

Oscar remembered the incident as he recited it.

The fight with the Taurus Demon had filled his heart with paralyzing dread and fear.

Its gigantic weapon made of stone, the demonic shape of its body, its imposing height, the roars and growls that came sprouting from its slobbery mouth.

All traits the Asylum Demon had possessed as well.

Oscar took advantage of the privacy of his helmet and closed his eyes.

Had it not been for Solaire’s presence and his unwavering support, Oscar doubted he would have found the courage to fight the Taurus Demon at all.

He wondered if Solaire had noticed how scared he had been during their whole encounter, and if he refrained from commenting on it to save Oscar further shame and mortification for his cowardice.

If this was true, then Oscar was deeply grateful to Solaire for his mercy and mindfulness. 

Fear was not proper of knights, but a certain amount of it was acceptable as long as it did not become hindering.

For elite knights, it was taboo.

Elite knights feared nothing.

Elite knights remained always strong.

It was the price they paid in order to allow the weak and the fragile the luxury of being vulnerable.

A soundless chuckled escaped Oscar’s lips.

Strange, how he remembered and continued to act according to that code with so much devotion, as if the essence of his being was fused with it to the core.

Perhaps, he thought, it was.

“I remember it too.” Solaire added softly. “It was just before we crossed the bridge and the dragon... well, the point is that I too know where that entrance is. Oscar is right, Lautrec. We needn’t risk our lives on the bridge. We can reach that door if we take the same path we did after we killed the Taurus Demon. It’s not far, and Oscar and I already cleared the way of Hollows.”

“Yes. That would be pertinent.” Oscar said dryly.

Hearing Solaire speak of him in a manner so polite was as comforting as it was bitter.

Grateful as he was to him for backing up his statement, Oscar did not want to be on good terms with Solaire, at least not yet.

The coals of his anger, though no longer burning, were still redder than they were black, and he wanted them to stay that way for a while longer.

It was childish, but so had been Solaire’s behavior.

To forgive Solaire so easily and quickly, after what he had said and for how foolishly he had risked his life fighting the Black knight, was not something Oscar was willing to do.

Perhaps later.

At that moment, they weren’t friends, they were only fighting comrades and traveling companions.

Oscar would protect Solaire with his life if necessary, but to talk and jest with him as casually as he had done before?

Not an option.

At least, not for now.

“I see.” Lautrec put a hand on his helmet, right where his chin was. “Is this the Astoran way to say you are scared to death? You could have simply said so! Though I must admit I am disappointed. I believed I was in the company of knights, not a couple of defenseless maidens.”

Oscar did not miss how the insult had mirrored his own, but he still couldn’t understand what Lautrec expected to gain from provoking him and Solaire.

It was even more of a mystery what Lautrec could expect to win from defying the wrath and power of a dragon.

As taunting and cruel as he could be, Lautrec had also proved to be sensible and even cautious in a way Oscar could almost respect.

Why then, would he do this?

Unless he wanted to punish Oscar for punching him.

The idea transformed Oscar’s confusion into anger. It was reckless to the point of being stupid, but could he really expect any different from Lautrec?

And what better way to plunge Oscar into distress than risking Solaire’s life; and to scrub salt into the wound, why not also forced both to admit their reasoning was motivated more by fear than it was by caution?

It was a ruthless thing to do a disgraced elite knight as himself, and even more so to a warrior as freshly drenched in defeat as Solaire.

Oscar looked at him from the corner of his eye.

From his perspective, Solaire had fought admirably.

He had exhausted the Black knight, making it much easier for Oscar to parry him and finish him off. The fact Solaire had managed to survive for so long against an enemy so powerful in such a narrow space was nothing short of impressive.

His decision to fight the Black knight had been careless, but there was no reason at all for him to feel ashamed or humiliated for having been defeated.

He had battled with the pride, courage and prowess of a true knight and a Warrior of Sunlight.

For a moment, Oscar felt tempted to express these thoughts to Solaire, but his ridiculous pride stopped his tongue.

Besides, he was sure Lautrec would lose no time in making his praising words sound condescending and fake.

It was the least Oscar wanted or Solaire needed.

“Caution is often mistaken for cowardice by reckless fools.” Oscar spoke with convincing tranquility. “And they always end up dead.”

“Not always.” Lautrec said, cocking his head at Solaire. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

He laughed.

It almost sounded like an innocent chuckle, and it left Oscar wondering if Lautrec knew how barbed his words were, or if he honestly believed he was amusing.

If endless mockery was really the only way Carim knights knew of how to convey fondness and friendliness, then Oscar could only pity the poor maidens they protected.

“You two are such a bore.” Lautrec sounded almost offended that neither Oscar nor Solaire had joined him in his laughter. He scoffed and walked towards the set of stairs that led to the upper part of the bridge.

Oscar heard Solaire’s gasp just before the two of them hurried after Lautrec to stop him.

He put a finger on his helmet and hushed them as if they were a couple of noisy children. Then, moving as quietly as a cat in the middle of a hunt, he climbed the rest of the stairs.

Oscar spread his arm to block Solaire’s way in case he tried to save Lautrec from the impeding flames that would soon consume him.

He would not allow him to share Lautrec’s fate.

A cold hole formed in Oscar’s stomach.

As much as he disliked Lautrec and of how often that antipathy had been close to transform into hatred, he had never wanted to see him suffer a death as horrible as the one only the fire of a dragon could grant.

He looked down and closed his eyes, not wanting to witness the carnage, and only wished Solaire would do the same.

“Yes, it’s just as I thought.” Lautrec announced in a loud whisper that was far from being discreet. “Look at the sleeping lizard, isn’t it a beauty? With its crimson scales, bright and bloody as the sunset that follows a day of battle and bloodshed.”

Lautrec folded his arms and sighed. He contemplated the dragon for a moment before aiming his attention back at Oscar and Solaire again.

“Yes, I know my looks are enchanting even when I’m wearing my helmet, but you two better snap out of it and come here. Hurry! That dragon will not sleep forever.”

Oscar and Solaire stood silent. Eventually, it was Solaire who moved first and went up the stairs after roughly pushing Oscar’s arm out of his way.

Oscar tried to grab his hand to stop him, but he refrained himself, aware that his refusal and disapproval would only push Solaire further into ignoring him.

_Lord Gwyn have mercy._

With every muscle of his body throbbing with concern and his heart pounding inside his chest, Oscar hurried after Solaire.

He considered grabbing him by the shoulders and throwing him down the stairs together with himself.

The fall would probably earn them a couple of broken bones, but it was a small toll to pay in exchange for escaping the fire of a dragon.

_He is a knight and a Warrior of Sunlight. He can take care of himself._

Oscar rebuked himself, suddenly becoming too conscious of the same behavior that had caused Solaire to resent him, other than his insistence on keeping the cursed ring.

The minimal weight of the artifact safeguarded in one of his bags became heavy and overpowering.

Oscar stared at Solaire’s back.

_A lying, disdainful and condescending bastard. That’s all I’ve been to you, ever since we even properly met. If I were you, I’d hate me too._

His need to keep Solaire safe, though still vivid, passed from being a raging storm to a calm sea.

_I’ll try to be better. I must._

His palm rested softly on top of the leathered surface of the bag.

_Chosen Undead._

The memory of his dead friend stung him like a dagger. Though never unwelcome, their memory was not what he needed, not when he had a dragon to worry about.

Softly, Oscar locked the Chosen Undead inside his mind again, promising to himself to think of them again once he and Solaire out of danger.

Later, but not now.

It was simply not the time.

“See? That wasn’t difficult, was it?” Lautrec welcomed them; his voice was low, but not as much as Oscar would have liked.

Before he did anything else, Oscar looked at the Hellkite dragon. The winged creature slept comfortably on top of the parish, its front and hinder legs hanging from the building carelessly. Its breathing was gentle and deep.

It looked peaceful and harmless, nothing like the furious creature that had tried to stomp them with its claws and had melted Solaire’s shield and flesh.

“Dangerous and wonderful beings.” Solaire commented under his breath, hypnotized by the savage beauty of the dragon.

He was standing next to Oscar.

At first, he said nothing, believing Solaire was talking to himself, but he surprised him when he added, “I think I know why it guards this bridge with so much devotion. Right there on the parish, next to the room where the bonfire is, I think I saw a small garden and one of the destroyed altars dedicated to the Lord of Sunlight. For some reason, dragons are drawn to them. Some say it is because he formed a covenant with dragons and fought by their side against his father, Lord Gwyn, and that this is the great betrayal that caused his name to be erased from the annals of history.”

“I’ve heard about it.” Oscar replied carefully. “And I think I saw it too. The destroyed altar, I mean. I didn’t really pay a lot of attention to it, though.”

“Neither did I. I was too busy, you know, trying to recover from my wounds.”

“That I remember, and who could blame you? Those were some nasty wounds.”

“They were, but I’m fine now.” Solaire said. His tone let Oscar know he did not want any more details to be revealed about the incident in front of Lautrec.

There was no need for him to do so. Oscar would never betray him in such manner, no matter how angry he was with him.

He nodded, and without being able to contain himself, he turned his head and looked at Solaire.

To his surprise, Solaire had done the same.

They stared at each other, as if both expected the other to say something.

Oscar saw how Solaire’s chest puffed as he drew breath to talk, but Lautrec got literally on their way before he could speak.

“It’s not that Solaire’s mythology lesson isn’t interesting, but we are three knights standing in the middle of a bridge with a sleeping dragon right in front of us, remember? Let’s not try our luck.”

“You’re one to talk.” Oscar said, reluctantly acknowledging the logic in Lautrec’s words. “Doing this insane stunt was your idea.”

“It’s perfectly safe.” Lautrec insisted. “As long as we are quick and stealthy, nothing will happen. Unless the dragon has a nightmare and wakes up angry and eager to vent its frustration on us. In that case... well, damn.”

“Enough talk. Let’s move out. This is how we’ll do it.”

“Show us the way, our one and only Lord Oscar.”

Oscar ignored Lautrec’s jab and continued.

“You two will cross the bridge first; I’ll stay behind and serve as your sentinel. If the worse was to happen, I’ll warn you so you can run away as fast as possible. It is still risky, but you’ll have a greater chance to escape without getting injured.”

“Aren’t you optimistic.” Lautrec would have laughed had the dragon not given out a loud snore that sent shivers down the spines of the three knights.

Oscar saw how tightly Solaire clenched his fists.

For his sake, he hurried.

“I’ll follow you once you have arrived at the other side of the bridge. That way, you two can keep an eye on the dragon while I cross.”

“You are so brave.” Lautrec scoffed. “If I was a maiden and you were from Carim, I would want you as my knight.”

“If I were your knight, you would be dead.” Oscar said, a mocking smile hidden behind his helmet. “And not because of an accident.”

“How rude of you.” Lautrec tried to sound offended, but Oscar heard some slight amusement lingering in his voice.

Without saying anything else, Lautrec prepared himself to cross the bridge.

Oscar thought he would have no further problem now that the knight of Carim had agreed to cooperate for once in his godforsaken life.

But even if Lautrec felt no need to say something, Solaire did.

“You go first, Oscar.”

“What?” Oscar was baffled, and for a moment, he wished it had been Lautrec who had contradicted him.

“I’ll keep an eye on the dragon.” Solaire explained as calmly as he could, though his nervousness was evident. “You go with Lautrec. “

Oscar opened his mouth, wanting nothing more than to refuse Solaire’s idea.

He couldn’t.

Solaire’s decision was not one randomly made. He had a motive, one Oscar thought he already knew.

His shaking shoulders and his heavy breathing were proof enough.

Solaire was indeed horrified of the dragon’s fire, and his fear would not pass unnoticed by Lautrec. The Carim knight would show him no mercy if he noticed him trembling like a child afraid of the dark of the night.

“I understand.” Oscar said with a feign stern tone. “Be careful.”

“I will.” Solaire said with relief. Oscar saw him moving a hand towards him, but he stopped before he could touch his shoulder. “You be careful too.”

Oscar nodded.

After a brief moment of silence, Oscar and Lautrec began with their march.

Their steps were calculated and gentle, as if they were lost scouts in the forest of an enemy land during times of war.

Oscar’s pulse was so strong and fast that each beat tainted his vision with faint shades of bright luminescence. It was impossible to fully nullify the clinking of their armors, and as soft as those sound were, for Oscar they felt as loud as dozens of mirrors being broken simultaneously.

_Walk tall. Solaire is watching you. He needs to see you strong. He needs your courage, so give him courage._

It was shocking how easily bravery came to Oscar whenever he had someone he needed to protect or inspire. More than heroic, it made him feel childish and dependent.

He remembered the Chosen Undead again, and how he had given up hope after the Asylum demon had crushed his body and left him for dead.

All his bravery had faded, and in its place had come a gnawing feeling of shame and hatred for himself and the whole world.

And for the Chosen Undead above all.

Bravery had only returned to Oscar after hearing them screaming his name as the Hollows mutilated and devoured their body.

_My friend._

Amidst his exalted nerves, grief blossomed.

How he wished he had been a true knight to the Chosen Undead. It should have been him who lent them his strength, not the other way around.

He should have guided them to safety and showed them kindness, not spat at their feet while confessing his eternal hatred for them.

Shame and regret burned within Oscar with more intensity than the Hellkite’s fire would have done.

_It should have been me who was strong. Not only for my pride, but for my duty. Not as an elite knight, but as man, as a human being. As a friend._

Oscar walked what remained of the bridge with his shoulders firm and his heart full of courage.

As soon as they reached the other side, he and Lautrec sought refuge behind the safety of the walls of stone. Oscar removed his helmet and pressed his hand against his forehead for a short moment.

He covered his face again and gathered all his bravery before revealing himself to Solaire again. He gave a quick glance to the Hellkite dragon.

It was as deep asleep as before.

He he saw from the corner of his eye how Lautrec dared to peek at the beast as well.

Now that he had two pair of eyes looking out for him, Solaire was safe to start his own travel across the bridge.

Oscar signaled him to move out. At first, he feared Solaire was too consumed by horror to dare to go on by himself.

He stood still, looking more like a statue than a man. Oscar had almost decided to go back to him and help him when Solaire finally started walking.

A long and silent sigh escaped Oscar’s chest.

Solaire’s pace, though slow, was firm and unyielding. Scared as Oscar knew he was, Solaire gave no signs of being at the edge of panic.

He walked with confidence, mastering his horror with an audacity that Oscar immediately acknowledged and respected.

_He is a true knight._

The thought resonated inside his head.

_Forgive me, Solaire. Forgive me for not having treated you as such. Not here nor back in Astora._

This he would tell him.

As soon as a good moment presented itself, he would.

“What is taking him so long?” Lautrec said. He was standing right in the middle of the arch between the two towers of the bridge. “He—”

“He is being careful.” Oscar finished for him, not willing to allow Lautrec to mock Solaire. “Now be quiet and focus on the dragon.”

“It moved.” Lautrec said with the tiniest thread of voice. “The dragon.”

Oscar had barely heard him, but his frightened tone had given away all he needed to know. He eyes jolted towards the dragon’s, his soul so tainted by grief and horror that he thought he would go Hollow.

_None of that. Panicking will gain nothing us nothing. Observe and confirm; and if what Lautrec says is true, then I must warn Solaire. He can still be saved. He is a knight. He can overcome this._

Encouraging words, but Oscar doubted everything would be so easily solved.

Gazing at the dragon felt like a meeting with Death itself. He expected to see those reptilian golden eyes glaring back at him.

Instead, he saw only crimson and scaly eyelids.

The Hellkite dragon still slept.

Relief had never felt so refreshing and sweet for Oscar.

“IT’S AWAKE!” Lautrec exclaimed; his voice so loud that Oscar was sure it would wake up the dragon for real. “RUN, SOLAIRE!”

Oscar tried to unmask the deceit, but it was too late.

Solaire, unable to look back on his shoulder, and wholly trusting Lautrec’s claims, started to run towards them with the same desperation and lack of grace of a criminal trying to outrun the city guards.

He tripped twice, and Lautrec laughed as he watched how Solaire’s honest bravery crumbled and gave way to the fear he had tried so hard to conceal.

Solaire tripped one last time as soon as he reached the other side of the bridge. Oscar instantly picked him up and pulled him back to safety behind the wall of stone.

He held him there together with him.

They waited in silence, but the fire never came.

“By the goddesses!” Lautrec cried out, lifting his helmet to wipe away the tears of laughter from his eyes. “Funniest thing I’ve seen in years! Is he alright, Oscar? Or do you need a moment to change his soiled diaper?”

Oscar did not feel the true burn of his anger until that moment. He let go of Solaire, decided to go to Lautrec and make him pay for his tasteless and pathetic attempt of a jest.

He would punch him again, this time in the jaw, with so much strength that it would snap off its joint and he would never be able to laugh again in all his Undead life.

Solaire grabbed him by the wrist. Estus and the bonfire had healed Oscar from his injuries, but Solaire’s grip was so strong that it made him wince.

He looked over his shoulder.

Solaire, with his back resting against the wall and his gaze lost into the distance, shook his head.

Oscar understood.

He relaxed his limbs and took a step back. Solaire let go of his wrist.

It angered Oscar that Lautrec would not answer for what he had done, but he would not act against Solaire’s wishes.

He was at a loss of words. As much as he wanted to say something comforting, he could not think of what he could say to ease Solaire from the humiliation Lautrec had caused him.

Oscar had always thought unfair how Lautrec had randomly chosen him as the main victim of his cruelty, but now that the role had been transferred to Solaire, he wanted nothing more than to reclaim all his attention to himself.

Solaire trembled, and without previous warning, he clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it against the wall. It sounded more like the strike of a metal hammer than the touch of flesh and bone against stone.

It was a dreadful sound, powerful enough to finally prompt Lautrec into silence.

Oscar went quickly to Solaire’s side, but he moved away from him before he could reach him.

Solaire didn’t look at Lautrec as he passed him by. Instead, he swiftly made sure the dragon was still asleep and then went to the closed door. He tried to open it with brute force, with savage kicks and punches, as if punishing the door was the answer to all his troubles.

Oscar, scared Solaire would wake up the dragon with his uproar, tried to go to him and make him stop, but Lautrec spoke first.

“That won’t work.” He said, not as a taunt or a mockery, but as a neutral announcement. He searched inside the only bag hanging by the waist of his armor and took out a key. “This will.”

Solaire, breathing heavily, gave the door one last punch before moving away so that Lautrec could open it.

Lautrec did not approach him immediately, and when he finally did, he did so with caution, always ready to evade Solaire’s attacks if he decided to vent his frustration out on him.

He didn’t.

Solaire didn’t look at him or Oscar.

In silence, he hurried inside the other side of the door, the furious stomping of his feet echoing in Lautrec’s and Oscar’s ears.

“It was a joke.” Lautrec told Oscar as they both stood in front of the open door. “I didn’t think—”

“Exactly.” Oscar grabbed him by the neck and pulled him closer to him until their helmets clashed. “You didn’t. You never do”

He pushed Lautrec away from him and followed Solaire.

He did not look back.

He didn’t care if Lautrec followed them or not.

He could stay behind and be devoured by the Hellkite dragon for all Oscar cared.

How could he have done such an awful thing to Solaire when he had been nothing but kind and friendly with him?

And all for what?

For a brief and ridiculous moment of amusement?

It was low, pathetic and—

_Exactly like it was back in Astora._

Oscar halted in the middle of the stairs. He punched the stone railing with the metal plating of his gauntlet.

It took him a moment to control his fury before he could continue his way.

Soon, he caught up with Solaire at the lower parts of the burg.

Solaire was wielding his sunlight sword. Next to him, there was the bloody corpse of an Undead dog, cut in half after what must have been a precise and brutal attack.

The growls of more of those beasts reached Oscar.

He unsheathed his weapon and stood next to Solaire. He acknowledged his presence with a quick glance.

Neither said anything, and together, they battled all enemies that came at them.

* * *

Sleeping dragons were difficult to wake, even more so if they rested in places where they felt safe from attackers, such as tall ruins or dark and wide caverns.

Screams or some light uproar would not disturb them in the slightest.

If one wanted, for whatever reason, to catch the sleeping creature’s attention, then the use of arrows or spears was the best choice to wake them up.

Lautrec knew this, and it had shocked him that Oscar and Solaire didn’t.

Was Astora really such a foolish land?

In any case, it had been too much of a good chance for some amusement for Lautrec to ignore it.

It had been hilarious to see Oscar take their situation so seriously, but seeing Solaire run away in such a desperate manner had been priceless.

Lautrec admitted it had been a cruel prank to play on the naïve idiot, but he couldn’t control himself.

Tasteless as it had been, it had also been harmless.

He had expected Oscar to get angry at him and to see Solaire shed some tears of fear, but he would have never guessed the two Astorans would react so sourly to the first not ill-intentioned jest he played on them.

Deep down, he had expected them to eventually laugh together with him.

He didn’t understand.

Why had they overreacted to that extent?

_I did nothing wrong. These bloody Astorans are just too damn sensitive for their own good._

Lautrec had promised Solaire he would try to be nicer to Oscar and that he would apologize to him. It all had been a lie to keep Solaire’s temper at bay; a promise Lautrec had never intended to keep.

Yet, after watching Solaire face the Black knight on his own, he had felt a new sense of respect for the poor fool, just as he had done for Oscar as he witnessed his brutal and clean killing of the ancient knight.

That was the only reason he had not killed them both after Oscar had dared to punch him in the face.

Lautrec had seldom, if ever, showed that sort of mercy before in his life, even less to an Astoran.

He didn’t understand.

He had been nice to them despite their Astoran birth; and yet, they dared to act as if he had committed a crime against them just for pulling a silly prank on Solaire.

_I don’t get Astorans. I really don’t._

He thought about it as he descended the stairs.

_Unless—_

Was Solaire really so scared of dragons?

That would be odd, considering he had been hypnotized by the beauty of the sleeping Hellkite. Then again, a sleeping dragon was always enchanting in a mesmerizing way, capable of alluring the attention of even those who despised dragons with all their souls.

If he was truly afraid of those winged beasts, what could be his reason?

Had he been told scary tales of them by his parents when he was a child?

Had one of his ancestors been devoured by them?

Or had he been the receiver of a dragon’s rage and destructive power?

Lautrec analyzed the options and decided the last option was the most plausible.

Solaire had, at one point, been attacked or killed by a dragon.

He was sure of it; perhaps by non-other than the Hellkite dragon itself. Unless it had killed him instantly with a snap of its powerful jaws, he probably had suffered a slow and agonizing death from his burning injuries and the infection of his blistered flesh.

It was said that wounds caused by a dragon’s fire never healed or stopped hurting. Lautrec did not believe it was true, but neither he wanted to prove for himself if he was right or not.

Was that the reason, then?

_Well... how the hell was I supposed to know?_

Not that knowing would have stopped him.

He did not regret what he had done at all.

Both him and his lady Fina had enjoyed the show, and to him, his lady’s opinion was the only one that mattered.

He heard the distant chaos characteristic of a good fight and smirked.

Wielding his pair of identical swords, Lautrec rushed towards battle, and every conflicting feeling he’d had for what he had done at the bridge was casted away from his mind, replaced with bloodlust and the need to offer his lady Fina the entertainment she deserved.

* * *

The dogs had only been the beginning. It hadn’t taken long for the Hollows to join the beasts. They attacked with the guile and cunning proper of the thieves they had been in their previous lives.

They were more challenging to defeat than the Hollows they had encountered before, but Oscar and Solaire managed to come out victorious.

When the battle was finally over, the floor was soaked with the blood of their fallen enemies. Oscar looked around as he caught his breath. He discovered that most of the Hollows had perished by his blade, but it had been Solaire who had taken care of the dogs.

He had killed the creatures with a blinding fury that Oscar had not witnessed in him since he had almost beaten Patches the thief to death.

Oscar swung his sword to clean it from the excess of blood and sheathed it in its case.

He took a step closer to Solaire.

Oscar felt the need to confess to him everything about the memory he’d last recovered while using the ring, and to apologize to him again for what had happened in Astora, but the act felt unnecessary and redundant.

Solaire had already forgiven him for his past indifference.

What good would it make to apologize twice for the same fault?

Especially when Oscar was doing very little to correct his current mistakes and offenses.

_If I must apologize, then it must be for what I’ve done here, not for what I did back in Astora._

With renewed resolve, Oscar approached Solaire. He noticed Lautrec was there too, but the Carim knight ignored them, and Oscar paid him with the same treatment.

“That was a good fight.”

Solaire looked at him.

Oscar thought he had made a mistake by approaching him so casually, especially after what Lautrec had done at the bridge. 

Solaire’s pride was too damaged for him to be his usual friendly self, and no doubt the least he wanted was to speak with Oscar.

_I’m a fool. This is not the right time for my apology._

Oscar regretted his poor judgement and decided to walk away from him and give him some time by himself.

Solaire however, offered him a nod and a reply.

“You did well.”

“As did you.”

The conversation soon turned cold and awkward.

“I’m going to check if there are any enemies left hiding inside the abandoned houses.” Oscar said. “I won’t take long.”

“No.” Solaire grabbed him by the arm before he had the chance to flee the scene. “We need to talk, Oscar. Now.”

There was a harshness in his voice that Oscar had never heard from him. He knew what it meant, just as he knew what Solaire wanted to tell him.

Oscar did not want to listen to it.

To do so would be to take a step forward into a path where he would be forced to continue his journey in solitude after parting from Solaire forever on bad terms.

He thought about insisting that checking the abandoned residences was a priority, but it would be a cowardly excuse.

Besides, Lautrec was already checking the buildings himself, as if he had read Oscar’s mind and had decided to thwart his plans.

Oscar gritted his teeth.

“You are right.” He finally answered. “We need to.”

“This way.” Solaire let him go and pointed at the stairs. “I don’t want him to listen.”

Oscar couldn’t agree more.

Together, they left Lautrec behind. He either didn’t notice or was too invested in his search for remaining enemies to care about what Oscar and Solaire did.

Once they had as much privacy as they could get in the those slums, Solaire removed his helmet.

His solemn expression further confirmed Oscar’s fears.

He showed Solaire the respect he deserved, and he too took off his helmet.

It would be the last gesture of appreciation he would offer him before they both went their separate ways.

“I lied to you, Oscar.” Solaire said, standing tall and firm, as if he was confessing a misdeed to a king. “When I said I had forgiven you for how you treated me back in Astora. I’m not proud to admit it, but I still resent you. No because of what the other elites did to me or because you were indifferent to it, but for how you shamed me.”

Shamed him?

That couldn’t be true!

He had never joined his comrades in their humiliation of Solaire.

_Did I?_

The question was like a kick in the teeth.

He did not think himself capable of it, but could he really trust his broken memories?

Could he really believe his past self had been above that sort of behavior?

Oscar wanted nothing more than to look away and hide his face, but he continued looking at Solaire, his heart burdened with regret and embarrassment.

“Do you remember what you did to me?”

“No.”

“You saved my life.”

Oscar thought he heard Solaire’s voice break

When he spoke again, he sounded unaffected.

He told him everything about the last humiliation he had allowed the elite knights to put him through.

He told him about how excited he had been about the possibility of being accepted among their ranks and how every elite knight in Astora had witnessed him fight endless hordes of Undead dogs.

He told him how it all had been a ruse that had gotten out of hand and had almost costed him his life.

“I remember.” Oscar confessed as soon as Solaire’s tale reached the point where he was drenched in blood, with only one Undead dog standing as his last opponent. “I was there. I saw everything, but I walked away.”

_Like I always did. Like the coward I am._

“I left you to your fate, Solaire.”

“You did not. You jumped in into the pit and killed the dog. I tried to make you pay for stealing my victory and ruining my chance, but I collapsed from exhaustion and blood loss. You carried me away from there and took me to a healer. You saved me, Oscar. I know it was you. I recognized your voice... I did the moment you first put on the ring and spoke to me.”

Solaire’s eyes mellowed. His dignified stance faltered and his shoulders hunched slightly.

He looked away.

After taking a deep breath, he fixed his eyes on Oscar.

“And I hated you so much for it. I felt dishonored and disgraced. Not only had I allowed the elites to humiliate me and take my life as a joke, I had also failed to prove to them I was more than what they thought I was. If anything, I confirmed to them they were right. I was not worthy of being a knight, even less an elite. I was a moron that had been gifted knighthood randomly, a useless fool not even the commoners respected and that desperately needed to be remined of his rightful place in the world.”

“Enough.” Oscar pleaded, not wanting to listen to Solaire talk about himself in such manner, even less for him to think he was the knight that had saved him.

He was mistaken.

Oscar had not helped him.

He had allowed his fellow elite knights to have fun at his expense.

He knew. He remembered it well.

He had turned his back on the whole thing and—

The memory was broken.

Oscar needed the ring.

He needed it to clear his memories prove to Solaire he was wrong. He resisted the temptation, but it was like trying to hold back a cough while chocking

“That was not me, Solaire. I told you, didn’t I? You meant nothing to me back in Astora. I was a vain, selfish man. I never would have saved you. That’s not the kind of man I was.”

“It was you, Oscar. I’m sure of it.”

Oscar didn’t dare to believe it.

If he had really been a good man in those old days, then why hadn’t he showed that same mercy towards the Chosen Undead?

Where had his kindness and selflessness been when he had needed them most?

“Please don’t do this, Solaire.” Oscar spoke, his need to put on the ring starting to become impossible to suppress. “Do not mistake me for a good man. I wasn’t. I am not.”

“You are a good man, Oscar. And still, I hated you so much for saving my life. Me, a Warrior of Sunlight, forever resentful of the man that had helped me in the greatest way a person can ever help another... It shames me, Oscar. It shames me how I put my stupid pride above everything else. It shames me how I can forgive those who almost killed me, but I can’t do the same for you, the man that saved me.”

Solaire swallowed and rested a hand on Oscar’s shoulder.

He closed his eyes and looked down.

“I can forgive strangers. I’ve forgiven the elite knights, my family, every enemy that has tried to kill me on the battlefield. I forgave the crestfallen, I forgave that thief Patches and even Lautrec, despite all he has done to both of us, but not you. I can forgive everyone, but not you.”

Oscar tried to say something, but a lump in his throat destroyed his words before they could be formed.

Solaire looked up again, the blue in his eyes starting to get surrounded by a gentle shade of red.

“That ring... that godforsaken ring! Oscar, I promised you I would do my best to understand your motives for wanting to keep it, but I didn’t! I did not care for its practical benefits, I just wanted you to ger rid of it. I wanted you to forget about your past and leave your life in Astora behind, just like I’d done. I wanted you to forget about that old Oscar for good. The Oscar that witnessed my biggest humiliation, the Oscar that knew me as the clown of the elite knights, the Oscar that saved my life and I hated with all my heart.”

“Solaire.”

“It angers me to see you so obsessed with a thing created from the suffering of others, but the ring isn’t true reason I resent you. I wanted you to forget all about who you had been, Oscar, and not once did I consider what your memories mean to you. I wanted you to turn your back on them for good. You didn’t. You chose to embrace who you had been and be who you really are, not who I thought you were... who I wanted you to be. I couldn’t forgive you for that. And I am sorry, Oscar. For all the awful things I’ve said, for not being a true friend to you. I’m sorry.”

“You are a true friend to me, Solaire.” Oscar held Solaire by one shoulder. This time, he cried first, and Solaire immediately followed his example. “You’ve always been.”

“I have not.”

Solaire hesitated and tried to step back, but he embraced Oscar after he gave him a small pull in his direction.

They both dropped their helmets.

They hit the floor at the same time.

“I was wrong, in everything.” Solaire stuttered in the small pauses his sobs allowed him. “It was not an illusion. You are who you are, Oscar. The knight that saved me, the man that misses his old life, the Undead that became my friend... they are all you. This is who you are. I’m sorry for trying to change you.”

Oscar couldn’t speak.

He tried to, but his jaw quivered out of his control.

“I’m sorry for hurting you.” Solaire continued, holding Oscar closer to him, as if he feared he would vanish from existence if he didn’t. “My friend, my true biggest ridicule is not what the elites did to me, but how I’ve treated you. I ask for your forgiveness, and if you can’t grant it to me, I’ll understand. I’ll do everything in my power to earn back your trust. I’ll be better. But if you want us to part ways, then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll do as you tell me, Oscar; but please... please know that I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, Solaire.”

Oscar finally found his voice, and he too tightened his hold on Solaire.

“You are a true knight. You’ve always been, even back in Astora, despite what I or the other elite knights thought of you. They were wrong... I was wrong. Do you remember what I told you when I was recovering from what had happened at the Asylum? How I told you I considered you a good man and an outstanding knight? I meant it, Solaire, every word. And the more I travel with you, the more I realize how much I've underestimated you. Your bravery, your kindness, your selflessness, your righteousness, your skill, they are all qualities of a real knight; all qualities you possess. You are a knight, my friend, and I’m sorry for not having treated you as such.”

Solaire chuckled amidst his crying.

“Such kind words from my friend.”

“No, not kind. They are true words from your fellow knight.” Oscar stated firmly. “I believe in them Solaire. Please, believe in them too.”

Solaire didn’t answer, but Oscar felt how he nodded in silence. Solaire then rested his forehead on his shoulder and wept freely.

Oscar did the same, but in silence; not out of shame, but out of habit.

When Solaire spoke again, his voice was hoarse and dry.

“Oscar?”

“I’m here.”

“The ring.”

Oscar stood still for a moment before patting Solaire’s back reassuringly.

“I’ll get rid of it.” He didn’t know how he would do it, but he was determined to find a way. “I promise.”

“No. That’s not what I meant.” Solaire sighed, and very softly, he broke free from the embrace. “If you want to keep it, then I’ll support your choice. I do not like it, Oscar, but I trust you. Just promise me you’ll be careful with it. Cursed rings are seldom kind with their wielders.”

“You are right.” Oscar said. “I think I need time to consider what to do with it, but for now, I’d like to hang on to it. My memories... I don’t want to lose them forever, Solaire. Not yet. Not more than I already have.”

“I understand, Oscar.” Solaire smiled.

Oscar smiled at him in response. He sniffled his nose and tried to wipe away the tears before they dried on his cheeks, but the metal plates of his gauntlets, though a good protection, proved to be poorly absorbent.

“Not my most brilliant idea.” Oscar said as he rubbed a small scratch the metal had left on the bridge of his nose.

“Here, use this. You can blow your nose with it too if you want.”

“That’s your talisman, Solaire.”

“It works well as a handkerchief. Trust me, I know.” He wiped his own tears as if to prove his point. “Besides, without my miracles, I have little use for it. Though I did manage to cast a Sunlight Spear when I fought the Black knight. It was a feeble thing, but—"

He stopped and looked away.

Noticing his embarrassment, Oscar took the talisman from his hand. He cleaned his drying tears with it; then, he returned it to Solaire.

“All progress is good, no matter how small.” Oscar held Solaire’s hand and closed it around his talisman. “You’ll get them back, Solaire.”

“But even so... Oscar, if it is okay with you, I would—” Solaire straightened his back. “Would you still be willing to teach me how to parry?”

His serious frown soon loosened, giving him the look of a sad man that already knew his petition would be denied.

Oscar let go of his hand without saying a word.

A flicker of disappointment turned Solaire’s face somber, but he gave Oscar an accepting nod.

“I understand.” Solaire muttered. With cheerful enthusiasm, he added. “No matter. We don’t even have the correct equipment to practice anyway! I can use the time to focus on my miracles instead. I can’t wait to get them back so you can see them in action, Oscar. Do you know any miracles? I could teach you a couple of them. Healing is easy to learn, and so very useful. True, it pales in comparison with Estus both in power and speed, but—”

“I’d like that, Solaire.” Oscar replied as he fidgeted with his belting.

“Oh, marvelous! This pleases me greatly.”

“Just as I’d like us to continue with our parrying lessons.”

“What?”

Solaire’s incredulous face earned him a good-natured chuckle from Oscar. “Open your hand, Solaire.”

He did not understand what was happening, but he obeyed Oscar without hesitating. In his open palm, Oscar put a dagger sheathed in a simple but well-crafter leather case.

“Your new parrying dagger, courtesy of Andre. Take as good care of it as you do with the rest of your equipment, except maybe your talisman.” Oscar explained with a small grin. Then, he pointed at an identical dagger that hung from his belt. “We’ll train with them as soon as you’ve mastered the basics with your arms and fists. I’ve got a buckler shield for you too, but that will come later. We’ll start our lessons whenever you wish, Solaire.”

“When did you get them?” Solaire asked, staring at the dagger as if it was a sword that had been wielded by the legendary sir Artorias the Abysswalker himself.

“I went to Andre’s shortly before we left Firelink Shrine. It was after what happened with Reah and Petrus.”

The names left a bitter aftertaste on Oscar’s tongue.

He dedicated a thought to Reah, hoping her bodyguards Nico and Vince were keeping her safe from dangerous creatures, especially from Petrus.

“I remember.” Solaire said, his jolly tone grounding Oscar back in reality. “It just never occurred to me that you had gone to buy all this. Not after what I—Oh, Oscar.”

Solaire hugged him again.

This time, Oscar did not cry, but he did not stop Solaire from doing so.

His friend deserved to have his tears, and perhaps, he could shed those that Oscar’s eyes, so used to always holding them back, could not.

“Thank you.” Solaire could barely speak, but for Oscar, he did. “Thank you for saving my life, both here and back in Astora."

“Solaire.”

“Thank you for being my friend.”

Oscar closed his eyes, and the figure he saw amidst the darkness felt so real that he couldn’t resist thinking of its name.

_Chosen Undead._

* * *

Lautrec looked at the Oscar and Solaire from afar.

“Isn’t it heartwarming? To watch two Astorans exhibit their saccharine, tooth-rotting sentimentality. Doesn’t it make you want to cry?”

He pulled the slender magician closer to him by the collar of his tunic. He restrained him by putting an arm on his shoulders.

Lautrec could feel him trembling from underneath his armor, and if he focused, he could also listen to his chattering teeth.

_Pathetic._

“Or are you like me and does it make you want to vomit your guts out, little Vinheimer?”

The magician licked his lips, not daring to look at Lautrec directly.

“I—”

“Shut up.” Lautrec grabbed him by the back of the neck as if he was a mutt being pulled by its loose scruff. The Vinheimer shrieked under his breath and clenched his eyes. “Vinheimer rats are not allowed to speak in the presence of a knight of Carim.”

Without letting him go, Lautrec pushed one of his shotel swords under the chin of the Vinheimer until he bled. The little scum let out a drowned whimper.

“I should cut your tongue and feed it to the crows for your impertinence. Yes... that would please my lady.”

Lautrec felt the tender embrace of Fina on his chest.

She approved of it, and he would please her.

“You deserve it.” Lautrec sneered at the Vinheimer just before he forced him into the ground. “All Vinheimer rats of the Dragon School do!”

The Vinheimer cried and howled like a pig being hung into a hook before being disemboweled.

Lautrec allowed him his scream.

It would be the last coherent sound that would ever come out of his mouth.


	29. Molten gold tarnished by blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading/leaving kudos and to sabatons, MrsLittletall and to Shady_elf for the comments!!
> 
> The next chapters... oh boy, I am planning them to get really ANGSTY. I wanted the angst to start on this chapter, but I coulnd't fidn the right place to put it lol. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter!

_I don’t remember how I died, but I know what my death transformed me into._

_An Unkindled._

_But I am also a Hollow._

_Horace is the same as me. I am glad to have him by my side; I could never go on without him. We’ve been together since childhood, and we died together as we failed to link the fire and were burned to ashes instead._

_I have no memory of this incident, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot fathom a good reason of why I would ever sacrifice myself to the fire._

_Never in that past life did I have any other purpose other than avenging the children devoured by Aldrich. And now that I am alive again, after the toll of the bell raised me and Horace from our graves, my objective remains the same._

_My childhood friends, so unfairly taken from this world by the repulsive impulses of that monster. Aldrich will pay for what he did to you._

_Nothing else matters to me and Horace._

_We care not about our duty as Unkindled._

_We were told by some strange fellows clad in black attire that we are meant to seek the Lords of Cinder, those who successfully linked the fire in previous ages, and bring them back to their thrones so that the fire can be linked once more._

_Aldrich is among them; somehow, he managed to offer himself to the fire and keep it burning._

_I don’t care about his reasons behind his sacrifice. He will never be a Lord to me. I refuse to acknowledge him as something else other than a murderous abomination._

_I shall not return him to his throne._

_I will seek him, and I will kill him._

_And Horace shall be by my side._

_My childhood friends, my beloved playmates, the only family Horace and I ever knew._

_Hollow as I am, my heart shall never forget the promise I made to all of you on that fateful day._

_Where Anri the Undead failed, Anri the Unkindled will succeed._

_And once my deed is done... well, that’s a matter for another time._

_How gloomy this all turned out._

_I mean every word I’ve written, but I would not want my first entry on this journal to end on such a sour note._

_Just as in my past life, even amidst the desolation and hopelessness that surrounds me, I have glimmers of joy that make everything be worth it._

_Horace is still with me._

_I have a purpose._

_I am alive._

_And I’m grateful to the gods and fate that I am._

_Oh, and I met a kind-hearted merchant. He gave me two unvaluable gifts, both of which I had dreamed of since childhood._

_An Astoran amor set, together with a sword and a shield, all once worn and wielded by a brave elite knight of ages past. I refused them at first, but the merchant won me over with his honeyed words._

_I do not know if he meant what he said, but I like to believe he did._

_Even if he didn’t and only played me for a fool, it doesn’t matter. I accepted this marvelous gift, and it is now my duty to prove I am worthy of it. Not only for my sake, but also for the memory of that elite knight._

_Nameless knight, hero of old. Thank you._

_I don’t know who you were or if you would approve of me being the successor of your equipment, but I will not disappoint you. I’ll treasure your belongings with my all my heart. Wherever your soul may be, I hope it rests in well-deserved peace._

_My other gift is not as impressive as the armor and weapons I now wear, but to me, it is as meaningful as Horace’s presence in my life._

_A full name._

_Anri of Astora._

_Is it pretentious of me to adopt Astora as my land of birth? Perhaps, but I shall prove I am worthy of it as well._

_It’s childish, I know. I feel like a kid again, pretending to be a hero._

_But I am no hero._

_I am an Unkindled with a mission of vengeance._

_There is no honor in my quest, but there is meaning._

_As long as I have this, I shall not go Hollow._

_Horace, my dead childhood friends, and even you, nameless Astoran knight._

_For you, Anri the Unkindled will keep fighting._

_For you, Anri of Astora won’t give up._

_No matter what tomorrow holds._

**_\- First entry of Anri of Astora's diary._ **

* * *

He had not expected to find anything worthwhile in those dirty, abandoned slums. 

The fight with the Hollows and the Undead dogs had been entertaining at first, but it had quickly turned boring and mundane thanks to the Astorans.

Solaire had massacred the dogs like a butcher desperate for meat to sell, while Oscar had disposed of most of the Hollows with swift strikes of his sword and nimble parries.

They had left few victims for Lautrec, and they had done so on purpose. Like immature children, they still resented him for the prank he had pulled on Solaire, and so they had deprived him of the joy of a decent battle.

It had been a petty but effective payback.

Frustrated by the pent-up violence and aggression he had not been allowed to manifest, Lautrec had desperately inspected the abandoned residences in search for a Hollow or a dog that could have remained.

He had not done so only for himself.

His lady Fina was growing bored and restless as well.

He needed to entertain her and keep her happy, for that was his duty and biggest pleasure.

After finding nothing he could kill in the ruins, Lautrec had seriously considered feeding his swords with Oscar’s and Solaire’s blood. They would be easy prey, immersed in their emotional conversation as they were.

They both had offended him in their own ways, and it was becoming painfully obvious his attempts to make them kill each other in a gory fight weren’t bearing any results.

At first, Lautrec had considered Oscar as the more prone of the two to succumb to blind aggression. He was a broken elite knight with a frail ego, and a half-Hollow with a fickle control over his emotions.

Breaking him should have been easy.

Lautrec had lost count of how many Astoran elite knights he’d given death after provoking their anger. Some of them had been thrown into the wildest fury by simple and menial insults, such as a poorly executed dignified bow or a complete indifference to their presence.

The easier they were to provoke, the worse was the death Lautrec gave to them.

He felt nothing but pride and satisfaction in the killing of those pretentious, arrogant pigs. Many of them had hardly been worthy of their titles and had died begging for mercy after performing pitifully in battle.

Lautrec had long wondered whether Astora’s standards for selecting its supposed best warriors were dismal, or if the elite knights' ranks were infested with pampered children of good families that had bought their entrance with their birth, rather than earning it with the blood they spilled on the battlefield.

Still, he had learned they were not to be dismissed as weaklings so easily. When elite knights proved they lived up to the reputation of their titles, they were formidable foes. They had driven Lautrec close to the gates of death on more occasions than he was willing to admit.

Oscar belonged to this category.

Luckily, those stronger specimens were as easy to enrage as their weaker counterparts. When blinded by their bruised, brittle egos, elite knights became chaotic opponents that could be overcome with a small amount of brains, agility and tactics.

Yet, Oscar had not been broken.

No matter how many insults Lautrec threw at him, Oscar’s temper had remained composed and mostly calm. Half-Hollowed as he was, he had not lost control of himself.

Lautrec had hoped Solaire would be more successful than him in bringing out the darker side of Oscar, but he too had failed, and more than furious, Oscar had seemed devastated by Solaire’s cold treatment of him.

_Solaire._

After witnessing how his festering insecurities had emerged from the Warrior of Sunlight after his defeat at the hands of the Black knight, Lautrec had changed his plans.

No longer would he attempt to make Oscar go berserk with constant insults; instead, he would make Solaire think of Oscar as his disdainful, condescending enemy.

He would watch how Solaire gave in to his past resentments and kill Oscar in a frenzy.

Then, Lautrec would kill Solaire and harvest their Astoran Humanities, fresh and dark with overflowing emotion.

It would be a tribute worthy of his lady, and also a treat for himself.

It would not be manipulation from his part; Lautrec had long learned that there was little need for overly complex machinations in order to make people act as one wished. All he needed to do was to guide them down the right path, and they would follow him willingly and with little resistance.

A small word, a tiny gesture, a simple comment, or an empty insult were always the best of catalysts.

He had no need to create situations, only to observe them and lightly push others in the direction he thought would bear the more interesting outcome.

The tension between Oscar and Solaire had never been his doing. He had merely taken advantage of the conflict they had created between themselves, long before he had come into their lives.

Lautrec had been convinced Solaire was already set on the way he had chosen for him; as long as Lautrec kept him from succumbing to his weak and sentimental nature, Solaire would eventually kill Oscar.

But he had ruined it.

Whatever sentiment and emotion Lautrec had woken on Solaire’s soul with his childish, innocent jest at the bridge, it had set Solaire on a different path, one that led to forgiveness and reconciliation with Oscar.

Lautrec hated to think he was responsible for it, but he also despised to consider that Solaire, and Oscar too, had never been under his influence at all, and that they would have reconciled with each other regardless of what he did.

The former reason made him feel stupid; the latter filled him with shame for his incompetence.

Had he lost his touch?

Had the Undead curse diminished his cunning?

Had he become weak of spirit?

Or worse, had his heart softened?

Lautrec physically gagged at the idea, and Fina shared his disapproval

He would kill them.

They were useless to him now.

They had mended their bond with their pitiful embraces and tears.

They would not feed their Humanities with their darkest emotions.

They would not kill each other.

They would not give Lautrec or Fina anything worthwhile, not a moment of amusement nor engorged Astoran Humanities.

What a shame, what a waste.

_Oh well, I’ll still keep their Humanities. They’ll not be as refined as I’d hoped for, but it would be foolish to let this journey amount to nothing._

Lautrec thought as he opened a closed door with the key he had bought from the Undead merchant. The almost Hollowed man had promised him that the key opened all the locked doors in the burg.

Lautrec had not believed him, but the merchant had sold him the key for almost nothing.

It had been a foolish but harmless purchase, one Lautrec had made only to satisfy his curiosity, but he had not expected it to earn him something incredible in return.

But it had.

Not incredible, but unexpected.

A Vinheimer.

The little rat was so pleased and relieved to see him. He thanked Lautrec for opening the door and rescuing him; his stupid, grateful smile had remained on his lips even as Lautrec stepped closer to him.

“Well, aren’t I lucky?”

The Vinheimer's smile vanished instantly.

Lautrec’s accent told him he was not his savior or friend.

“I came looking for Hollows, and I found myself a little sorcerer from the Dragon School. And a secret one at that, if those clothes you wear are truly yours and not something you striped off a corpse.”

The Vinheimer, either fully confident of his skills or prompted by panic, casted a Soul Arrow at Lautrec.

Lautrec had expected the attack and evaded it with little effort. Then, he threw one of the Thorolund talismans he had bought from the Undead Merchant’s secret stash.

Those had been expensive, but also useful.

They’d better be, or else Lautrec would go back to the Undead merchant and have his hide.

The small trinket shattered as soon as it touched the Vinheimer’s chest. It covered his body with a faint mist that soon faded.

The Vinheimer gasped in horror, his hands clawing at his clothes, aware of what had been done to him.

_So, the talismans are not fake._

They were real Lloyd’s talismans, the same Thorolund clerics used during their Undead hunts, to keep those branded with the Darksign from healing themselves with Estus.

Lautrec smile, satisfied.

The Undead merchant would live to see another day.

Taking advantage of the Vinheimer’s shock, Lautrec charged at him. A second later, he had the defenseless sorcerer pinned to a wall, with a hand covering his mouth. Lautrec pulled the Vinheimer’s head up and exposed his neck.

On his throat, he rested the sharp edge of his dagger.

“Your staff and shield, and any hidden weapon you carry.” Lautrec said to him softly, not as an enemy but as an understanding knight. “Drop them. Now.”

The Vinheimer did not obey at first.

He only did after he felt his own blood streaming down his skin as Lautrec’s dagger cut open a small, superficial slit on his throat.

“Good.” Lautrec praised him, the same way he would have done with a dog that performed its first trick. He inspected him himself, and once he made sure the sorcerer was deprived of any weapons, he continued. “Be grateful, Vinheimer, that I allow you to live even after you dared to attack me. Me, a knight of Carim. “

The Vinheimer looked at him with a strange mixture of fear and defiance. The latter did not last, and soon fear was all that remained in those glassy, treacherous eyes.

_Vinheimers of the Dragon School are to be killed at sight._

It was a golden rule back in Carim, but in Lordran, the rules of one’s homeland could be ignored if one wished to.

Lautrec did not.

At least, not this time.

_I will kill you, but first..._

“You could be useful.” Lautrec whispered so softly that he doubted the Vinheimer had heard him, even when his helmet was only an inch away from the sorcerer's face. “Come with me. Do not speak unless you are spoken to. If you try anything, I’ll flay you alive.”

The sorcerer understood and offered no resistance. Lautrec then dragged him out of the building and took him where Solaire and Oscar were.

_You’ll make a fine bait._

Lautrec smiled under his helmet, thoroughly enjoying the power he had over the Vinheimer.

_You’ll keep them busy. And once they are dead, I’ll kill you too. Not because that is what would be expected from a knight of Carim... I just don’t feel like sparing your life, and neither does my lady._

Fina whispered something in his ear.

Lautrec chuckled.

How witty his lady was.

He stopped not too far away from Oscar and Solaire. They were still embracing each other; and Solaire, as pathetic as always, continued to cry.

_Enjoy those tears, my foolish friend. They will be the last ones you shed._

“Isn’t it heartwarming? To watch two Astorans exhibit their saccharine, tooth-rotting sentimentality. Doesn’t it make you want to cry?”

Lautrec asked the Vinheimer as he pulled him closer to him.

“Or are you like me and does it make you want to vomit your guts out, little Vinheimer?”

A small pause.

“I—”

And with that word alone, the Vinheimer sealed his fate.

Lautrec had made himself very clear to him.

He was not to speak unless he was spoken to.

Then again, a Vinheimer was not meant to speak to a Carim knight under any circumstances.

The sorcerer should have remembered this.

He should have known better.

He hadn’t, and now Lautrec would kill him for his impertinence.

The Vinheimer screamed louder than he had expected.

That was good.

The louder his cry, the sooner Oscar and Solaire would come to his aid.

Then, while they were too busy trying to comfort the squealing and toungeless Vinheimer, Lautrec would kill them.

Oscar would die first, for he was the most dangerous among the group.

Solaire would fall afterwards, before his immeasurable grief by the demise of Oscar could transform into unquenchable anger. If that happened, he’d become a lethal opponent that could easily reduce Lautrec’s body to an amorph bundle of mutilated flesh and broken bones.

Lautrec would not give him the chance.

Then, he would get rid of the Vinheimer.

Finally, he would take their Humanities and flee, and if any of his three victims was reborn from the bonfire, they would not find him again.

Lautrec would be long gone from there, to a place where they would not dare to follow him.

Perhaps Oscar would be courageous enough to do so, but Lautrec doubted he could endure another death without Hollowing in the process and dying for good, so he did not worry about this possibility.

“You deserve it.” Lautrec told the Vinheimer as the maggot struggled on the ground, desperate to keep his mouth away from Lautrec’s dagger.

It was futile.

Lautrec had him trapped under the weight of his body and armor as he sat on top of his chest. Horrified, the Vinheimer held Lautrec’s wrist with both hands, trying to free his neck from the asphyxiating grip of those golden fingers.

It did nothing; and soon, exhausted by his efforts, the lack of air and the dread of the dagger that would soon deprive him of his tongue, the Vinheimer’s hands fell limply on the floor.

Lautrec smiled from behind his helmet.

“All Vinheimer rats of the Dragon School do!”

Lautrec had intended to say more, but a swift and stinging slice on his throat silenced him.

His voice became a gurgling murmur, and it leaked from his opened flesh in the form of warm blood.

All his strength escaped him. He rushed his hands to his armored neck, his blood filtering through the metal on his fingers and painting the golden plates crimson.

The Vinheimer smiled triumphally at him, his eyes glistening with victory and satisfaction.

_How?_

Lautrec thought in a cold frenzy as he tried to stop the flow of blood, but the Vinheimer had been precise in his attack.

_Godforsaken rat!_

He had tricked him.

He had made Lautrec believe he was a defenseless, cowardly man.

And he had attacked him at the first chance he got, with a single slash of a hidden blade.

The small, unprotected slit between Lautrec’s helmet and the rest of his amor that left his neck exposed was almost invisible to the eye; yet, the Vinheimer had managed to land a clean hit on it.

It was an impressive feat, even more so for a secret student of the Dragon School.

Everyone in Carim knew better that to underestimate those treacherous, secret-stealing bastards, no matter how meek and peaceful they acted.

Lautrec had known this, but he had also believed the Vinheimer was under his absolute control. The sorcerer’s act had been too convincing for Lautrec to suspect he had not yielded to his power and authority.

Or perhaps, Lautrec had merely been too careless.

Maybe he—

_No!_

Lautrec fell to the floor, but not before he erased the Vinheimer’s mocking grin with a slash of his dagger. Too weak to aim correctly, Lautrec managed only to leave a deep but not lethal cut on the sorcerer's cheek.

The Vinheimer covered his face and screamed in pain.

Lautrec would have laughed, but he found little amusement in the whole situation.

He had been defeated.

He was dying of a throat slit open by a pathetic Vinheimer.

It was the death proper of a pig, not of a knight of Carim.

_Fina._

Lautrec, choking on his blood, stretched his arm towards the sky and reached for his lady.

_Forgive me._

His lady did not answer, and the weight of her arms across his chest faded away into nothingness.

_Don’t leave me._

But she did.

She was gone.

He had failed her.

She had no need for him.

_Come back to me._

She had no need for a knight that had allowed himself to be defeated in such a worthless manner.

_Who am I without you? What is a knight without his lady?_

Oscar blocked his sight. He was kneeling next to him.

He removed Lautrec’s helmet and inspected the wound. A second later, he was pouring all the Estus of his flask on Lautrec’s tattered flesh.

_No!_

Lautrec tried to struggle away from Oscar's idiotic compassion, but his limbs were stiff and numb from blood loss.

Once his flask was depleted, Oscar asked Solaire for his.

The crying moron, the weak-hearted Warrior of Sunlight.

He was too busy trying to deal with the hysterical Vinheimer, but still he managed to give Oscar the flask so that the healing could continue.

“Leave...” It was the only word Lautrec could muster.

“Don’t talk.” Oscar, in his awful cruelty, dared to address him with a soothing tone. “You’ll be alright.”

Lautrec’s eyes filled with burning tears of anger and hate.

There was nothing more shameful for a Carim knight than the receive pity from others, even less from other knights.

_Astoran knights!_

He would not allow it!

Death was a preferable than to be saved by Astorans, even less by Oscar and Solaire!

To be helped by them was a bigger humiliation than what Lautrec thought humanly possible.

What would Fina think of him if—

The memory of his goddess sunk him into despair.

Lautrec ordered his body to ignore the healing elixir and die, but his orders remained unheard, and against his will, the wound on his throat stopped bleeding.

_No, this can’t be!_

He wanted to rip it open again with his own hands, but his body and mind were too far deep into the realm of unconsciousness to obey him.

_Fina._

Lautrec searched for his goddess with his fading senses, but there was no trace left of her divine presence.

“Fi...”

“You will not die this time, Lautrec.” Oscar reassured him. “You have my word.”

_The word of an Astoran is not worth the filth on a giant’s rear._

Lautrec passed out before he could try to form the insult and throw it at Oscar.

He thought he felt Fina’s arms on his chest, but he could not hear her voice.

_Come back to me._

He begged his lady.

She answered only with silence.

* * *

It was impressive how fast things could go wrong.

Solaire still did not understood what had happened.

One moment, he was enjoying a moment of peace and reconciliation with Oscar; then, less than a minute later, he was trying to keep under control a panicked sorcerer. He had him cornered against the old facade of a residence, the tip of his sunlight sword resting softly but threateningly on the sorcerer’s chest.

It would pierce his heart at the first violent move.

Solaire had spoken the warning out loud.

He felt no pride on his merciless threat, but it had been the only way he could think of to calm down the sorcerer.

It had worked, but the sorcerer continued to breathe heavily. He looked at Solaire with a miserable look in his eyes.

It tugged at Solaire’s heartstrings, but he could not allow himself to feel pity for the man. For all he knew, he was a dangerous threat. One that had probably killed Lautrec.

He was not to be underestimated or trusted.

What if he attacked again and this time he hurt Oscar?

Solaire would not allow it.

His friend was too focused in his desperate attempt to keep Lautrec alive.

Deep down, a part of Solaire resented the sorcerer for what he had done to Lautrec too.

The Carim knight was not what he would call a friend, but he had helped him and Oscar in the past; they had battled together against the Belfry gargoyles, he had saved them from Petrus, he had guided them to the lower slums of the burg and had dragged Solaire to safety after his defeat at the hands of the Black knight.

These were deeds Solaire had not forgotten, not even after all the disdain and cruelty Lautrec had shown to him and Oscar in numerous occasions.

Lautrec was their fellow knight and a companion, and if he died, Solaire would mourn him as such.

_I don’t want him to die._

The thought came naturally to Solaire. Pure as it was, it was also an inconvenience, for it further incensed his distrust and aggression against the Vinheimer sorcerer.

“Please, don’t kill me.” The sorcerer pleaded, perhaps noticing a change in Solaire’s expression that scared him; his hand was soaked with the blood that sprouted from his cheek. “I never wanted... He was going to torture me! He wanted to cut off my tongue! I was just defending myself. Please, Warrior of Sunlight, you have to believe me. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

Solaire sensed no treachery in his voice, and he knew Lautrec would not be above such behavior.

Carim knights had never been kind to Vinheimer sorcerers; they considered them untrustworthy and deceitful, always willing and prepared to get their hands on other nations' secrets.

It was a hatred Solaire could understand but did not share. He had never done so in life, and now that he was Undead, it would be even more foolish to hate anyone for the wrongdoings they had once committed in the name of their homelands.

“Tell me what happened.” Solaire said to the sorcerer, not with cruelty but with the authority expected from a knight.

The sorcerer nodded eagerly in agreement and told him his tale.

Solaire found himself believing him, but a part of him remained skeptical.

“Why did Lautrec bring you here?” Then, as much he disliked the question, Solaire asked, “Why didn’t he kill you as soon as he found you?”

A heinous act, but one that Lautrec would have considered common, perhaps even laudable.

“I don’t know.” The sorcerer said faintly, as if he feared Solaire would kill him for his unsatisfying answer. “It was... It was as if he wanted you and your fellow knight to witness my torture and death. Maybe he wanted me to die as humiliated as possible. I really don’t know, Warrior of Sunlight. Carim knights have never needed a good reason to unleash their anger and cruelty upon us Vinheimers.”

Solaire agreed with him in silence, and though he relaxed his stance, his sword remained firmly pressed on the sorcerer’s chest.

“I just want to leave this place.” The sorcerer closed his eyes for a moment. “I am weak, unable to heal my injuries with Estus, thanks to the talisman he threw at me. I am deprived of my staff, I am in no condition to fight, and I have no desire to. Warrior of Sunlight... I beg of you, let me go. And if you can’t, if your resentment towards me is too great because of what I did to your friend, then I ask you to kill me.”

“What?” Solaire breathed, taken aback.

“If you think my death will set things right for what’s happened here, then do it. Strike me down.”

The sorcerer explained, disheartened beyond words.

“A death at the hands of that man... it would have been too much for me to endure. He would not have given me a quick demise. He would have tortured until I went Hollow. But you... could you honor the code of your covenant and give me a swift, painless death? Hopefully, I’ll be reborn at a distant bonfire, with a few of my memories lost, but with my mind and soul free of the cruel taint that knight would have left on me. Do it, Warrior of Sunlight. Please, just set me free so I can continue my journey.”

“Enough.” Solaire stated, his voice booming across the slums.

The sorcerer flinched, especially when Solaire pressed his sword closer to his heart.

“I won’t take your life.”

The sunlight sword departed from the other’s chest. The Vinheimer shuddered, so overwhelmed by relief that he had to press his back against the wall to keep himself on his feet.

There was nothing but appreciation and gratefulness in his features towards Solaire.

“Killing you won’t solve anything.” Solaire said. “It will not heal Lautrec nor will it quell a resentment in my heart that doesn’t exist. I believe you, sorcerer.”

“Griggs.” The Vinheimer stated meekly, with a small, apologetic smile in the corner of his mouth. “My name is Griggs. Griggs of Vinheim.”

“I believe you, Griggs.” Solaire corrected himself. “That’s why I’m letting you go.”

Solaire hear the clinking of Oscar’s armor behind him. He expected his friend to rebuke his decision, but he remained silent.

“I...” Griggs stuttered. Carefully, he took a step away from the wall. “Thank you.”

“But we can’t let you retrieve your staff and shield.” Oscar added.

He was still kneeling on the floor next to a now unconscious Lautrec.

His words visibly diminished Griggs’ hopeful enthusiasm, though he was also shocked by Oscar’s broken voice.

Solaire turned his head and looked at his fellow knights. Lautrec had bled abundantly, the metallic scent of his blood reaching Solaire’s nose even through his heaume.

“Forgive us, but there’s too much at stake for us to take the risk.” Oscar explained. “I know you may think of me as unfair, and I don’t blame you. Trust me when I say that I wish we had met under better circumstances. Go, get out of here. Firelink Shrine is not far away from here. Follow the path and you’ll get there in no time.”

“But without my staff, how am I supposed to defend myself?”

“My friend and I took care of the Hollows a long time ago. It’s a desolated route, but also safe.”

“As safe as one can possibly be in Lordran. Which is very little, even more so without a weapon.” Griggs replied bitterly.

“That is true.” Oscar conceded with a humorless chuckle.

“I can’t agree to that.” Griggs insisted with a determination that sounded much like defiance. “I can’t leave my staff behind. It is too valuable!”

Solaire raised his sword at him again.

Though he succeeded in placating Griggs’ forcefulness, it did nothing to change his mind.

“I’m sorry.” Solaire said, but he knew his apology had no effect in soothing Griggs’ grief.

The sorcerer shook his head.

“There is a shortcut nearby, one that leads to Firelink Shrine without the need to pass through the burg.” He said. “I can show you the way to it. I’ll even aid you in battle if we happen to come across more Hollows along the way. When we reach it, I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again if that’s what you wish. But first, I must get my staff back.”

“Why is it so important to you?” Oscar inquired. “Is it special in its power?”

“It was a gift from my master. It is precious to me.” Griggs’ hand left his check, revealing a cut so deep that it would likely leave a permanent scar even if it was healed by Estus. He joined his hands together and bowed his head to Oscar and Solaire. “Please. Allow me to retrieve it and I swear I’ll go in peace. I do not like violence, and even if I did, I am not foolish enough to think I could defeat a Warrior of Sunlight and an Astoran elite knight in battle. Please... I beg of you.”

Without lowering his blade, Solaire looked at Oscar.

His friend gazed at him too, while holding Lautrec in his arms.

“What do you think, Solaire?”

Solaire flinched at the burden of the responsibility Oscar had thrusted upon him.

Yet, it felt good.

Oscar was willing to trust his judgement.

Solaire, smiling brightly under his helmet, gave him an answer.

“First, I need you to tell me how’s Lautrec.”

“He’s a good as he looks.” Oscar said, and Solaire did not know whether he found his comment amusing or tasteless. “He needs time to recover, but he’ll live. It would be best to not move him around so much and let the Estus do its work. The process would be faster if we were at a bonfire, but don’t worry. He is going to be alright.”

“That’s good.” Solaire said.

Was it, really?

As much as it shamed him to admit it, he wasn’t sure.

Still, he was indeed glad Lautrec would not die.

The loss of a fellow knight was never a matter of celebration.

“Oscar, can you stay here and look after Lautrec while I accompany Griggs to this shortcut he talks about?” Solaire turned his head at the miserable sorcerer. “Not without retrieving his staff first, of course.”

Griggs' change of expression would have been comical if it wasn’t for the cut on his cheek, a grim reminder of all that had gone wrong between him and Lautrec.

“Thank you.” Griggs spoke, his eyes welling with tears.

Oscar remained quiet for a moment.

Just when his silence was starting to worry Solaire, he said, “Very well. I’ll wait here for you. Be careful.” With a dead-serious voice that only became more sinister by how broken it was by the Hollowing, he added, “Don’t try anything. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Griggs, intimidated by the demonic tone of Oscar, hunched his shoulder and lowered his head.

“Good.”

Solaire considered that the threat had been unnecessary, but he could understand Oscar’s reasons.

Had their roles been reversed, he would have done the same thing.

“Well, then.” Solaire said as he spread his arm with the sword towards the abandoned houses. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

* * *

Oscar watched Solaire and Griggs, now wielding his beloved staff, depart from the burg.

Solaire waved his hand at him, promising him he would be back soon.

Oscar reciprocated the gesture in silence.

_Be careful._

He did not enjoy watching Solaire go, even less when he considered his friend was entering an area they had never explored.

Though he did not think Griggs was a bad person, Oscar had no good reason to trust him. He may have attacked Lautrec in self-defense, but he had also proved he could be a lethal enemy.

What if he did the same to Solaire?

What if he died at his hands, all alone and drowning on his own blood?

_I should go after them and—_

No.

The effort was almost physical, but Oscar managed to rid his mind of those awful thoughts. Desperate for a distraction, he gently carried Lautrec in his arms and moved him closer to a burning pyre.

Its fire, fueled by burning corpses and wooden remnants of old furniture, lacked any of the healing properties of a bonfire, but its warmth would do good to Lautrec.

He laid him down at a considerable distance of it, not too close for him to become overwhelmed by the heat, but not too far away for him to miss the gentle warmth.

Oscar stood up and stared at the Carim knight.

He never would have imagined himself looking after him, just as he had never expected to see Lautrec reduced to this state.

At that moment, Oscar felt something for him that wasn’t pity or hatred. He did not know what to call it, but regardless of what that sentiment was, it was not enough to fully nullify his regret of having been left in charge of him.

There he was, watching over Lautrec instead of accompanying Solaire.

“It should be him I am protecting.” Oscar muttered under his breath as he sat down next to Lautrec, his attention placed on the abandoned houses as he remained sharply vigilant of any enemy that could be luring nearby. “Not you.”

Impotence twisted like a knife in his belly.

Oscar indulged for a while in his anger.

Then, he remembered he had promised Solaire he would treat him as his fellow knight, inferior to him in no manner, and his frustration transformed into shame.

As much as he wished to go after Solaire and keep him safe from Griggs' potential ill intentions, Oscar knew he was not meant to do so.

He had to trust Solaire.

It was not that he doubted Solaire's abilities, but sometimes he worried that his heart was too trustful of others for his own good.

Oscar took a deep breath and sighed.

“I trust you, Solaire.” He unsheathed his sword and prepared his shield in case the need to use them surged. “You’ll be back soon. I know you will.”

With that, Oscar focused on the duty Solaire had given him and watched over Lautrec with diligence.

* * *

Solaire had suspected Griggs would betray him the moment he guided him into an old tower, the place where supposedly the entrance of the shortcut was.

Inside, a Hollow with a bow was expecting them. Solaire had disposed of it with some of the throwing knives he had bought.

The killing of the Hollow had not taken long, but he had seen from the corner of his eye how Griggs had raised his staff and casted a spell at him during that small moment he had been distracted.

A magic attack at such close distance could very well be lethal.

Solaire had cursed his naivety at first, but his fears were proved wrong when Griggs’ Soul Arrow flew directly at the Hollow, who still clung to life and was trying to throw a fire bomb at Solaire.

“Thank you.” Solaire said to the sorcerer.

“I told you I could be useful.” Griggs tried to smile widely at him, but his bleeding cheek caused him too much pain for him to complete the expression

“Here.” Solaire said as he grabbed his talisman and casted miracle at Griggs.

“No!”

The sorcerer covered his head with his arms, but quickly relaxed when he realized Solaire had not casted a Sunlight Spear at him, but a healing miracle.

It was not very effective, and Estus would have worked much better.

But his miracles remained weak and all his Estus had been given to Lautrec.

That small miracle would have to do.

Solaire hoped it was enough to soothe Griggs from his pain, if only a little.

“I know it’s not a fully realized healing miracle, but—”

“No, it’s alright.” Griggs said kindly, touching the wound Lautrec had left on him with the pads of his gloved fingers. “It does feel better. I appreciate it, Warrior of Sunlight.”

“You can call me by my name.”

“Oh... yes, certainly. Thank you, Solaire.”

More at ease with each other, they climbed the stone stairs of the tower until they reached a wooden door.

Griggs opened it. He went in first, and when Solaire followed him, he could finally be sure he had not made a mistake by trusting him.

They were at the stone bridge that gave access to the Undead burg from Firelink Shrine.

“Well, I suppose this where we must bid each other farewell.” Griggs said, and though he tried to sound polite, Solaire also noticed a thread of eagerness in his voice.

He couldn’t blame him.

What had happened with Lautrec was a stain that could not be washed away.

“Indeed.” Solaire sheathed his sword. “I am sorry I was so distrustful of you, Griggs, but—”

“No, you did fine.” The sorcerer interrupted him with an understanding chuckle. “Had I been in your place, I would have reacted the same way. Well, not exactly. Then again, Astorans have always been known for being too tender of heart.”

Solaire nodded at the comment, but it left him wondering what exactly Griggs had meant.

“I wish you luck in your journey.” Solaire said after a brief pause.

He thought of shaking hands with Griggs, but promptly reconsider.

“Take care, Solaire.” Griggs said in response. He took one step away from Solaire, but before he turned his back on him, he added, “By the way. Your friend, the elite knight. Oscar, if I recall correctly.”

“What of him?” Solaire asked with caution, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“He is Hollow, isn’t he? Not completely, of course... but judging by his voice, I can tell he is heavily touched by the curse.”

Solaire did not answer, and the fondness he had started to feel for Griggs dwindled.

“So what if he is? He’s still a courageous, noble knight. His body may be affected, but his mind and heart remain human.”

“Please, do not get angry at me, Solaire. I do not intend to insult him or judge him at all. I am sure Oscar is a worthy knight and a kind man. But that won’t last forever, and he may soon go Hollow.”

“He won’t.” Solaire declared firmly. “He has a purpose.”

“But if he dies again...”

“He won’t. I’ll be by his side and keep him safe.”

“It is a nice sentiment, but sentiment alone has seldom kept people from harm.”

Griggs breathed a soft sigh. He searched inside the pocket of his black tunic and spread his arm towards Solaire.

In his palm, he held three small talismans.

“Lloyd talismans, like those used by Thorolund clerics. Like the one that Carim knight used on me.” Griggs smiled fondly at the trinkets. “They are also a souvenir of one of my first successful missions as a student of the Dragon School. Take them, Solaire. Be sure to use them once Oscar hollows. It will make it easier for you to kill—”

“He is waiting for me.” Solaire snapped at Griggs. His arm trembled as he struggled to keep it from slapping Griggs’ hand and his damn talismans away from him. “And I would not want to make him worry. Farewell, Griggs of Vinheim.”

Solaire did not wait for a reply. He caught a quick glance of Griggs’ confused face as he left the shortcut and entered the tower again.

He did not feel bad about it.

He couldn’t, not after the awful things Griggs had suggested about Oscar.

_He doesn’t know him! Not at all! How does he dare to judge him in a manner so cruel?_

He stopped midway down the stairs.

_Because that’s what most Undeads truly think of those touched by the Hollowing._

The thought made Solaire’s heart drop to his feet.

It was the same treatment Oscar knew others would give him once they realized he was half-Hollow.

The treatment Solaire had not wanted to believe was important enough to justify Oscar’s need to hide his true appearance.

Andre, Siegmeyer, Oswald, and even Lautrec to an extent, they had all treated Oscar the same way they would have treated any other Undead.

But Petrus, Reah, Nico, Vince, and now Griggs...

Solaire, now free of his anger and resentment towards his friend, could see more clearly the reality of Oscar’s situation.

He continued walking down the stairs, his soul heavy with regret.

“I said I would be better, Oscar. And I will.”

He hurried his pace, and soon he found himself running towards the slums; back to the place where Oscar was waiting for him.

* * *

“Oh dear.” Griggs shrugged. “It was not my intention to offend him.”

He intended to return his rejected talismans inside his pocket, but a merchant hidden behind the bars of a metal door, her skin rotten and strongly infected with the Hollowing, finally emerged from the darkness of the tunnel and asked Griggs to sell those trinkets to her instead, so that she could make good busines with them.

Instead, Griggs gifted them to her, just as he had done with the merchant man at the burg.

Griggs was not a greedy man, and he had talismans to spare. And if he ever ran out of them, he knew well how to create them from scratch.

It was a surprisingly simple method; one he had memorized from the moment he had stolen it from the heart of Thorolund.

“You are a kind soul, lad.” The merchant woman said to Griggs, almost as if she was trying to flirt with him.

“I am not.” He bowed his head shyly at her. “Still, the compliment is highly appreciated, ma’am.”

With that, he turned his back on her and left, eager to reach Firelink Shrink and rest peacefully next to the bonfire for a while and regain his strength so he could continue with his search for master Logan.

He held his staff tightly and touched the wound on his cheek with his free hand, and wondered if some Estus would be enough to heal it without it leaving a scar.

* * *

“Quelaag? Is that you?”

He answered the lady in the same way he always did.

He reached a Humanity to her hand.

It fused with her fingers, sending a wave of relief to her entire body and soul.

But it had not been enough.

He could see it in her expression.

Her pain remained, no matter how much she tried to hide it.

“Thank you, Quelaag.”

She tried to touch his hand, but Kirk pulled away from her touch.

He was not worthy of her gratefulness, not when he had failed her so miserably by bringing her some puny, useless Humanity.

She deserved better from him, and Kirk was determined to deliver.

“Quelaag? Where are you going?”

With a silent promise, Kirk left her behind and went to the hunt.

“Come back soon.”

He would.

With as many Humanities as needed to offer her as much comfort as he could.


	30. Tragedy lurks in the shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! 
> 
> The world is a bit crazy right now, but I hope you are doing well. Hang in there!
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to Anon for the heads up and to Mrs Littlefall for the comment!
> 
> So... maybe this chapter is not as angsty as I promised, but trust me, we are getting to the true angst soon ;)
> 
> I hope you like the chapter!

They moved, shattering Kaathe’s drowsiness.

“What is it?” He asked the creature. “What’s wrong, little Hollow? Did you have a nightmare?”

Kaathe tried to look inside the Hollow’s mind to unveil the root of their despair, but the creature moved and trashed inside his mouth as if his tongue was made of burning coals.

“Control yourself!” Kaathe demanded, his voice spreading across the endless abyss. “I cannot help you unless I know what’s troubling you.”

Such behavior was new for Kaathe.

Since their arrival to the Abyss, the Hollow had been a peaceful presence.

Miserable and full of regret for their useless earthly life, but also docile and quiet.

What had changed?

What anguished them so?

_“Move.”_

The Hollow said to him with their mind, not with their tongue.

Kaathe answered them the same way.

_“Explain yourself.”_

_“Move.”_

_“Little Hollow, I do not understand.”_

_“Move. I’ll guide you.”_

_“You, guide me? Who do you think you are? What do you know of the Abyss? Insolent fool, I may be an old serpent, but I am not some pet that will follow your every command.”_

_“Move.”_

Kaathe growled without opening his mouth. His throat throbbed as the deep vibrations filled the nothingness that surrounded him.

It was not a sound a mortal could endure without losing their mind to horror and despair.

But the Hollow inside his mouth was not a normal mortal, and though Kaathe could feel their fear as it flowed through their body, they did not desist.

“Move.” The Hollow’s voice was a pitiful thing; yet, it was real and persistent.

It was not something Kaathe could simply ignore.

“Please.” The menial word did not pass unnoticed for the serpent. “Kaathe.”

The sound of his name sunk deep into Kaathe’s spirit.

How long had it been since it had been spoken out loud?

“Please.” The Hollow insisted. “Hurry, before it’s too late.”

Trapped between rage and nostalgia, Kaathe clenched his jaw and pulled up his tongue, pressing the Hollow against his palate mercilessly.

He kept them there, trapped in a powerful but not lethal crush. Once he considered the Hollow had had enough, Kaathe returned his tongue to its normal position.

He did not enjoy punishing mortals, for they seldom knew any better. Though constantly disappointed by their naivety and disgusted by their selfish tendencies, Kaathe had never harbored true hatred in his heart for the creatures.

If he punished the Hollow, it was not to make them pay for their impertinence; he merely needed to establish limits between them and himself.

 _“This time, I’ll do as you tell me.”_ Kaathe thought while the Hollow still struggled to recover their breath. _“I do, however, expect better manners from you from now on.”_

Kaathe waited for a respectful reply.

An apology would have been welcome too.

The Hollow gave him neither.

_“Move. Over there. Hurry.”_

_“...Very well, little Hollow. Lead the way.”_

He did not know what they were meant to find or what the Hollow expected to obtain. A part of Kaathe was curious of where the Hollow would take him, but he kept his expectations low. 

Now that the Hollow was calm, Kaathe thought of peeking inside their mind to discover the root of their urgency

He didn’t.

It would spoil his interest and make the whole situation infuriating rather than slightly amusing.

It was not often that Kaathe was given the chance to indulge in small moments of mirth.

He would humor the Hollow for the time being.

There was little to gain, but also nothing to lose.

* * *

_The swamp was always a challenge to cross._

_The mutated animals, the thick muddied water, the ruthless abominations that mercilessly attacked him on sight._

_But it was all worth it._

_All that he did, he did so in the name of the fair lady._

_As difficult as the path was, Kirk carried on._

* * *

“Are you sure about this?” Solaire asked as soon as he finished refilling his flask with Estus.

Oscar took a moment before he answered.

He looked at Lautrec.

The knight of Carim laid on his belly, still unconscious. His swords, dagger, helmet and Estus flask were carefully placed by his side. His hands, tied with a piece of an old rope, were folded behind his back.

“I am.” Oscar said. “I know it seems heartless, but it’s the best choice for all us.”

He looked at Solaire, and though he could not see his face, he knew what expression now painted his friend’s features. “What do you think, Solaire?”

Oscar worried about his answer. He wondered if Solaire would try to make him change his mind.

Oscar would listen to his arguments, but he doubted he would reconsider his decision.

Solaire pondered on the matter, his flask gleaming brightly on his hand. He too was gazing at Lautrec.

“I agree with you.”

It was not the answer Oscar had expected, but he was glad to hear it.

“I don’t understand why he was so unnecessarily aggressive towards us, but I doubt he hated us.” Solaire continued. “He claimed it was his way to convey camaraderie and friendship, and perhaps, it really was. I wish I could have understood him better. I know this will sound ridiculous... but I think that, had we managed to find common ground, the three of us would have become true friends. It’s a shame that’s lost now. Once he wakes up, he will hate us for what we did to him.”

“I know.” Oscar came closer to Solaire. “A knight of Carim would never forgive another knight for showing mercy on him, especially not from Astorans. We may have saved Lautrec’s life, but we also deprived him of his honor.”

Would it have been more merciful of them if they had allowed Lautrec to die?

Dozens of similar questions fluttered inside Oscar’s mind. When he and Solaire had healed Lautrec from the wound Griggs had inflicted on him, it had never been their intention to humiliate him.

They had acted without thinking, following their impulse to keep their companion alive. 

Neither Oscar nor Solaire had it in themselves to be as cold-hearted as to simply watch someone else die.

Oscar knew most human beings, regardless of the traditions and teachings of their homelands, shared this sentiment.

Death was a as awful to witness as it was to experience.

Yet, once the danger had passed and Solaire had returned safely to him after his small travel with Griggs, Oscar began to ponder on how Lautrec would react to a healing he had not wanted or accepted.

Oscar had seen only hate and disapproval in Lautrec’s grey eyes as he’d poured Estus on his bleeding throat. 

There was no gratefulness for him nor Solaire in Lautrec’s heart, and if he had really thought of them as friends at some point, he would no longer do so once he woke up.

“Oscar?”

Solaire Ventured; he sounded no less troubled than Oscar.

“Yes, Solaire?”

“Did we do wrong?” Solaire took off his helmet. His eyes, usually filled with determination, were clouded with doubt. “Should we have left him die?”

Oscar wished he could give Solaire an immediate answer, but he couldn’t, not when he was as uncertain as him of what exactly they had accomplished by saving Lautrec’s life.

“I don’t know.” He replied after a long moment of awkward silence. He removed his helmet and dedicated a disheartened smile to Solaire. “Still, even if I’m not sure if there is a _´right´_ way we could have acted, I know that I would have deeply regretted having let him die. Maybe permitting his death is what Lautrec wanted us to do, but it’s something I could never bring myself to allow to happen. I was selfish, perhaps, but—”

“We were selfish.” Solaire corrected him, putting a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. His expression, while not enthusiastic, was calmer and more hopeful than before. “For I think and feel the same way as you do.”

Oscar held Solaire’s hand for a moment.

Then, they put their helmets back on.

With that, they prepared themselves to return to the slums. Their way back would be easy thanks to a shortcut Oscar had discovered after having explored the slums more carefully.

It was a set of stairs that gave them quick access to the burg’s bonfire without the need to pass near the bridge guarded by the Hellkite dragon at all, through a metal door that could only be opened from the side of the slums.

The newly found shortcut had allowed them to transport Lautrec safely to the bonfire.

Though originally Oscar and Solaire had intended their trip’s purpose to be the urgent refilling of their Estus flasks and Lautrec’s recovery, it had eventually transformed into their permanent departure from the Carim knight.

Oscar had proposed the idea first, after his thoughts on how Lautrec would react after he came back to his senses became increasingly somber and dangerous.

He chuckled under his breath.

“What’s so funny?” Solaire asked him with a faint smile.

“My Hollowing has really made me overly emotional.” Oscar replied. “I find no other reason of why I would feel wistful about parting ways with Lautrec, especially when all he gave us were bitter remarks and cruel jests.”

Solaire’s face turned bleak. With unveiled concerned, he took a step closer to Oscar.

“Are you alright? Is your Hollowing—”

“It was a joke, Solaire.” Oscar said, both touched and slightly amused by Solaire’s reaction. “Of course I am emotional. I am Astoran, remember?”

“Here. Take this.” Solaire said, as if Oscar had never spoken. From the bag on his belt, he took out a Humanity.

Twin Humanities.

The dark essences danced on his couped hands as he offered them to Oscar.

“Where did you get that?”

“An Undead dog I killed dropped it. Call it fortune or mere chance. Use them, Oscar.”

Oscar accepted the gift, but only partially. With extreme caution, he separated the joined Humanities.

He kept one for himself and offered the other to Solaire.

It was only fair they shared them, and he knew Solaire needed it as much as he did.

Solaire however, pushed the Humanity away from him.

“No, Oscar. I want you to use both.”

“I can’t. Not unless you want to make me feel like a selfish ass.”

“I would rather you to be a selfish ass than a Hollow.”

Though Solaire’s reply was good-natured and not without humor, it struck Oscar with a reality he was aware of but did not enjoy confronting.

“Have you noticed something wrong with me?” Oscar asked with agitation. “Solaire, if you think I have acted in a way that has worried you, I—”

“It’s not about something you’ve done wrong.” Solaire reassured him kindly. “It’s about trying to prevent something awful from befalling you. Oscar, I promise I’ll protect you with my life, but I know my shortcomings. I am not the most powerful of warriors, and as good as my intentions are, nothing guarantees me I’ll always be able to keep you safe. I pray it never happens, and to simply think about it makes my heart bleed... but if at some point I fail you and you die—”

“You would not be failing me.” Oscar had not intended to interrupt Solaire, but neither could he allow him to think his life or potential death were his burdens to bear. “Any death that could befall me would never be your fault. Do you hear me, Solaire? Never.”

“Yet, you would feel the same way if it was me who died. Wouldn’t you?”

Oscar’s silence confirmed Solaire’s words.

“That’s true.” Oscar said. Then, he offered the Humanity to Solaire again. “Please, my friend, accept it. Don’t do it for me, but for yourself. The curse weighs heavily on all Undead, not only those partially Hollowed like me.”

“Oscar.” Solaire frowned, mortified by the petition, but not blind to the logic behind Oscar’s words. “If I accept it, do you promise to me to use on yourself the next Humanity we come across?”

“Of course.” Oscar accepted. “Unless you are in more need of it than me. In that case, you must be the one who uses it.”

Solaire let out a faint and meditative growl. Slowly, he took the Humanity from Oscar’s hand. “Very well. We have a deal.”

“A deal? What are we, a couple of merchants closing a bargain?”

Solaire laughed under his breath. “An agreement, then?”

“A bit too formal for my taste, but it does sound better.”

Oscar looked at Solaire and raised the Humanity. Solaire imitated him, in a poor imitation of a toast. In silence, they reached another agreement, and each pressed their respective Humanity onto the other’s chest, right above their hearts.

The refreshing comfort and sense of lucidity made Oscar feel as if he was free of the Undead curse. It was a fleeting, intoxicating ardor that had no equal.

Perhaps it was only fair that it came together with a leaden sense of exhaustion, similar to the lethargy that followed a day of hard work.

Oscar had to lean on Solaire to keep himself from falling to his knees. Solaire, though equally affected, resisted better the aftermath of the Humanity infusion.

“Are you alright?” Solaire asked Oscar as he held his arm and helped him remain on his feet. Gently, he started to guide Oscar to the bonfire. “Here, let’s rest for a moment. Maybe we didn’t think this through. It was foolish of me to suggest a Humanity infusion right now.”

“No, it was the right choice.” Oscar said with a shaky voice. “We are about to enter new territory, most likely filled with dangerous enemies, some of which we may have never encountered before. To face this challenge with our souls breaming with Humanity was a good call, Solaire.”

“Yes, well... it certainly does not look like it now that we both move and feel like a couple of drunken sailors.” Solaire chuckled humorlessly.

“It will pass soon.” Oscar insisted without being forceful. “We may not be able to fight any enemies in this state, but that doesn’t mean we have to remain idle in the meantime. If I remember correctly, we have some parrying lessons to continue, don’t we?”

Solaire’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Of course I remember! Don’t think I am trying to find a way to avoid my lessons like some irresponsible page, Oscar.”

“Oh? In that case, let’s go back to the slums so we can begin. We’ll train for a while, and once our bodies have regained their full strength, we’ll continue our way to the depths. What do you think? Does it sound like a good plan to you?”

“It does.” Solaire answered, his voice recovering its usual energetic tone.

He put Oscar’s arm across his shoulders.

Oscar had not intended to ask for help, but it was welcome, nonetheless.

They looked at Lautrec one last time.

“Was tying his ankles and wrists necessary?” Solaire inquired. “It seems a bit cruel.”

“He’ll try to chase after us. We need to be as far away from him as possible before he wakes up. He’ll find a way to free himself eventually, I’m sure, but this will buy us some time. In fact, now that I think about it...”

Oscar kicked Lautrec’s dagger and swords away from him. They slid across the floor until they crashed against a heap of rotten wood and broken metal. It crumbled at the touch of the weapons and concealed them underneath the trash and filth.

“Sorry, my foot slipped.”

“Oscar!”

“I know. I’m the worst.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Solaire said. Maybe it was only Oscar’s imagination, but he swore he heard amusement in Solaire’s voice. “But you enjoyed doing that, didn’t you?”

“Just as much as you enjoyed watching it.”

They laughed, just as Lautrec had done so many times before while taunting them.

They turned their backs on the knight of Carim and left him behind.

It was not the most proper of farewells, but it was fitting.

It was, perhaps, the only peaceful farewell possible between Astorans and a Carim knight.

* * *

_His journey was far from over._

_He couldn’t let his guard down. The depths were dangerous, and they were as riddled with monstrosities as the desolated ruins of Blighttown._

_Kirk met a merchant clad in strange armor not long after entering the sewers._

_He tried to do business with Kirk, but he ignored him._

_The idea of killing him and take his Humanity crossed Kirk’s mind, but the fair lady deserved better that the pitiful dark essence of a defenseless old man._

_Disdainfully disregarding the merchant, Kirk continued his hunt._

* * *

“Timing and practice. These two aspects are the basis for parrying.” Oscar stated as he delivered another punch on Solaire’s cheek after his friend failed yet again to deflect his attack completely.

Though he restrained his strength to keep himself form loosening Solaire’s teeth, his punches still packed enough force to draw out blood.

Solaire spat out bloodied drool and cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand.

“And perseverance is no less important.” Oscar added.

Injuring Solaire, even if it was for the sake of the training, twisted his soul with guilt and regret.

It was, however, a mandatory step.

An unsuccessful parry in real battle could lead to an immediate death. The grave consequences of failure had to be branded on Solaire’s mind in order to keep him always sharp when trying to perform it during a real duel.

“Let’s rest for a moment.” He suggested before Solaire had the chance to ready his arms in a defensive stance.

“But—”

“Rest is as vital as hard work during training. And to be honest, I could use a break right now.” Oscar explained. Most of his strength had returned to him, but his body still felt slightly numb and unresponsive. “Come, let’s sit for a while.”

Solaire, though obviously against the idea of interrupting his training, did not contradict Oscar.

Together, they rested next to an abandoned water well.

Oscar rested his back against the stone while Solaire took a sip of Estus and held it inside his mouth, right on the cheek that had received the most damage. He looked a bit ridiculous, but also dignified and determined.

Even if his swollen cheek made him look humorous, Oscar felt nothing but respect for Solaire.

He had endured the training without complaining even once.

“I know.” Solaire spat out the Estus and scratched his ear. “I look stupid.”

“A little.” Oscar said with a fond smile.

“Thanks for the unwavering support, my friend.”

“But it is only natural to look a little stupid when learning something new.”

“Leave it to you to turn a somewhat insult into a motivational phrase, Oscar.”

“Hey, see it this way. I’ll look just as ridiculous when you teach me how to cast a healing miracle. I have always considered myself a man of strong faith, but I never managed to cast miracles correctly. I know... well, I _knew_ the theory and many tales by heart, but after a few failures, I got frustrated, so I gave up on them and focused my training solely on the mastery of weapons instead.”

“Miracles always came naturally to me.” Solaire crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knees. “At least, they used to.”

“And they will again. I’m sure of it.” Oscar said firmly but not without kindness. “Just as I am sure you’ll be able to perform perfect parries, Solaire. Remember what I told you; timing and practice are everything. From what you’ve showed me so far, you have great precision with your body; it only needs to be honed, and the only way to hone it is with constant practice.”

“I don’t understand. If I have great precision with my body, then how comes I couldn’t deflect your attacks even once?”

Oscar shifted his position.

“That’s because you still don’t know how to react properly to your opponents’ movements. It doesn’t matter how nimble or strong your body is if you don’t manage to synchronize your actions and reactions with someone else’s. You react with the correct amount of energy, but your timing is off, hence why my attacks still reached you, even if you did manage to reduce the damage I inflicted on you.”

“Just like you told me back on the church’s roof, after we defeated the Belfry gargoyles.”

“True. Still, I do see an improvement in your technique. There’s a confidence in you that wasn’t there before. That alone is a gigantic step, Solaire. You have great potential.”

Solaire gave out a loud laugh. “Keep this up and you may succeed in making me blush.”

“I mean it. Those fools back in Astora did not know the great knight they were giving up when they did not give you a chance.”

It did not take long for Oscar to regret having said that out loud. The comment turned Solaire’s smile into a blank straight line. He looked down at the dry grass on which they were sitting.

Oscar had intended his words to be of comfort, but it was obvious they’d had the opposite effect.

The past was sometimes best left forgotten. It was not a feeling he understood, but it was something Solaire believed in fervently.

“It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” Solaire said, slowly lifting his face. His smile, lightly distorted by his swollen cheek, was back on his lips. “Not when I have you for a mentor, Oscar. Whatever people thought of me back in Astora... I don’t care about it any longer. It’s your opinion I care about, and my own.”

Oscar doubted Solaire knew what his words truly meant to him.

Then, he discovered he was wrong.

Solaire did know.

That was the reason why he had decided to say them out loud.

Oscar searched for something he could say in return, something that could be equally meaningful for his friend, but all his ideas seemed poor and trivial when compared with Solaire’s.

“You make such a funny face every time you get lost in your thoughts.” Solaire said, giving Oscar a slap on the shoulder.

“I-I just...” It was not common for Oscar to stutter, neither out of fear nor nervousness. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything. There’s no need.” Solaire grabbed his shoulder and shook him tenderly. “You speak through your actions, Oscar. They tell me more than what words ever could. I’m sorry it took me so long to understand this aspect of you, but I do now.”

“I—” Oscar said, still not completely understanding what Solaire had told him. When he did, he could only say, “Thank you.”

What followed was the most comfortable silence he and Solaire had ever shared.

Strange, Oscar thought, how easily silence became soothing as soon as one stopped trying to fill it with needless words.

“Well then, I think we’ve rested enough.” Solaire stood up and offered his hand to Oscar. “Shall we continue with our training, mentor Oscar?”

“By the gods, please don’t make title-calling a habit between us.” Oscar rolled his eyes as Solaire lifted him up. “It could create a drift between us; besides, it sounds ridiculous. Don’t you agree, apprentice Solaire?”

“Point taken. Be a friend and forget I ever brought it up; now, about synchronizing my movements with that of my opponent’s...”

The training went on longer than they had expected, but neither noticed how quickly time passed by.

By the time they were done, after long explanations and demonstrations on how to identify the right moment where an attack could be deflected and countered, Oscar was branded with a bruise on his jaw, courtesy of Solaire.

He had only managed to parry Oscar once, but that single time had been done almost perfectly.

If he kept on practicing, it wouldn’t take long before Solaire was ready to begin his training with the parrying dagger and buckler shield Oscar had bought for him.

“That’s all for now.” Oscar declared, feeling how his body was finally free of the lethargy the Humanity infusion had left him with. “Let’s continue our training later. Next time, if you manage to parry me three times, I may consider start using our daggers.”

Lautrec would have been the perfect instructor for Solaire in this department. Carim knights were, given their legendary dislike for the use of shields of any kind, natural and renowned masters in the use parrying daggers.

It was a shame fate had not allowed that scenario to happen.

Oscar took solace in the fact that, even if Lautrec was still traveling with them, he would not have stepped into the role willingly. Lautrec’s heart was not kind or patient enough to be a teacher, and Oscar doubted he would have restrained himself from injuring Solaire for real during a sparring session.

_“Apprentices that can’t defend themselves while training are not worthy of fighting in the battlefield. If they die during practice, blame their incompetence, not their instructor. That’s just Carim’s way.”_

Oscar could hear him clearly on his mind.

It made him miss Lautrec a lot less than he thought he did.

“I’ll do my best!” Solaire exclaimed, childishly motivated by the possibility of putting his new dagger to use. His impetus paled as his eyes became fixed on Oscar’s jaw. “Oh dear.... I’m sorry, Oscar. I hit you a lot harder than I intended. I must have gotten carried away.”

He had.

Had Solaire’s punch landed more directly on his cheek, Oscar’s mouth would be missing a tooth.

Yet, Oscar was not angry with him. Injuries were a normal part of training, and it wasn’t as if he had not left his own mark on Solaire’s face.

“Do not apologize, I was prepared for it. It’s nothing some Estus can’t heal.” Oscar was about to take out his flask from his bag when Solaire held his arm and stopped him.

“Solaire?”

“Don’t waste your Estus. I’ve got a better idea.” 

He grabbed his talisman and pressed it closely to his mouth. He closed his eyes and muttered a soft tale that Oscar could barely hear.

A warm radiance emerged from the blessed silk of the sunlight talisman and surrounded them like a dancing ray of sunlight.

Magic and miracles, no matter how lethal and destructive they could be, had a beauty in their casting that not even the swing of the rarest of weapons could equal.

Despite his poor talent for either craft, Oscar had always been fascinated by the mesmerizing display of their conjuring, and Solaire’s healing miracle was no exception.

The soothing light healed small injuries in Oscar’s body he had not realized he had. It also left his jaw free of pulsing pain.

Solaire’s cheek returned to normal too, leaving only faint traces of dried blood on his lips as evidence of the now faded injury.

“A perfectly casted healing miracle.” Oscar muttered with a wide grin.

“It... it seems like it.” Solaire, too incredulous to understand what he had accomplished, stared at Oscar with a flustered smile.

“Your miracles!” Oscar grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “They are back! Solaire, you did it.”

Solaire snapped out of his incredulity. Oscar could see the contained happiness gleaming in Solaire’s eyes, but his friend remained unnaturally stoic.

“Is something the matter?” Oscar asked, letting go of Solaire.

“I just want to be sure of something.” Solaire took a few steps away from Oscar and put his talisman close to his mouth once more. This time, he muttered a tale with a different rhythm, similar in tone to a war chant.

He raised his free hand, covered with lighting energy, and threw the attack at one of the abandoned houses.

The miracle briefly took the shape of a spear, but it faded into nothingness before it could crash against the house’s facade.

“Oh. Well, at least Lautrec is no longer with us. If he had seen that, he would have never let me hear the end of it.” Solaire tried to add humor to his failure, but his disappointment was too great to fool Oscar or himself. His forced chuckle became a deep sigh.

“Don’t rush it.” Oscar said. “The Sunlight Spear is among the most complex of miracles, and one's faith most be unwavering for it to work. Your faith is still healing, Solaire, and though it may not be as strong yet as it was before you came to Lordran, it has recovered to the point where you were able to cast a powerful healing miracle. See?”

Oscar traced two fingers over his jaw.

Solaire did the same with his cheek, and much to Oscar’s relief, light and hope returned to his eyes.

“You are right. Thank you, Oscar.”

Together, they returned to the spot where they had left their equipment and put their helmets back on.

“Are you ready?” Solaire asked.

Oscar nodded.

With that, they carried on, determined to continue their journey no matter what dangers waited for them next.

* * *

_The goddamn basilisks._

_Infernal, grotesque creatures with lungs of pestilence and plague._

_He had escaped them, but he could hear their guttural roars and the splash of their membranous legs as they hunted him down, like hounds sniffing after an injured hare._

_Kirk couldn’t believe he had been so careless, but the depths were a treacherous maze. He had lost his step and fallen through one of the many trap holes concealed across the water tunnels._

_It had been by sheer luck the fall hadn’t broken his neck, and perhaps it had been mere chance the basilisks had only cursed his left arm.  
_

_He had tried to defeat the creatures, but they were too many. He could not battle them without perishing to their cursed breaths in the process._

_Weak as they were, basilisks were not to be underestimated under any circumstances._

_It was a lesson Kirk had learned long ago; and now, the teaching had been cruelly reinforced into his mind._

_Holding his cursed arm close to his chest, Kirk waited in silence for the basilisks to lose interest in him and disperse. He could take them on easily one by one, but to attempt to do so while packed together like wolves would be madness._

_He relaxed and set his thorny sword and shield on the wet floor._

_One could never know how long a Basilisk’s interest could last. Sometimes it lasted seconds, others, it lasted hours._

_It made no difference for Kirk._

_He knew the meaning of patience._

_He would wait._

_He also prayed for his dear lady, and apologized to her for his incompetence, promising to deliver to her the strongest and darkest piece of Humanity that had ever existed in Lordran._

* * *

The Capra Demon had been an enemy Oscar and Solaire were ready for, but the beast still proved to be a challenge to kill.

The two Undead dogs that accompanied the demon had caught Oscar off guard, and if it hadn’t been for Solaire’s blade, the animals would have succeeded in ripping apart the chainmail of his arm with their rotten teeth.

Once the dogs had perished by Solaire’s hand, he and Oscar had directed all their efforts at the raging abomination. While not colossal in size as the as the Asylum’s or the Taurus Demon, the Capra Demon made up for it with agility and skill.

The brutal attacks of its sharp machetes were as precise as they were powerful. The clashes left deep dents on Oscar’s and Solaire’s shields, and in more than one occasion, the two knights had been close to losing an arm.

Though their limbs remained attached to their bodies, they were not unscathed from battle. Oscar wore a cut on his chest that had ripped the tunic of his armor in half. The chainmail and plates had kept his body safe, but still he felt a twinge of loss at the destroyed sight of his uniform.

The tunic had been granted to him at the ceremony that had marked his initiation and acceptance into the elite knights. He had always treasured it, and though he had not treated it kindly since his arrival to Lordran, the affection for the now destroyed piece of cloth had remained.

Solaire’s helmet had not been spared either. The once lustrous and implacable metal was now forever tainted with a diagonal scar.

The damage their precious equipment had received angered them and made their attacks stronger, but it was the sight of seeing each other in danger which sent Oscar and Solaire into a bloodlust frenzy.

Oscar’s attacks became swift and lethal, and soon the Capra demon was drenched with the blood that poured out from the wounds caused by the sharp edge of his straight sword.

Weakened and vulnerable, the demon had finally been brought to its knees by Solaire.

The Warrior of Sunlight cut the demon’s legs so deeply that small splinters of shattered bone had exploded together with bursts of blood at every slash of his sunlight sword.

With a rain of firebombs, the two Astorans put an end to the monster’s misery. The deafening cry of the demon resonated across the slums. It hung in the air until silence wiped it from existence just as the fire consumed the demon’s life.

The stench of its carbonized flesh was sickening, and it lingered long after the demon’s corpse had vanished into thin air.

A scorched mark on the grass and a couple of rusted machetes were the only traces the abomination left of its pass through the world.

“Are you alright?” Oscar and Solaire asked each other at the same time.

They laughed in relief at the coincidence.

Neither was gravely injured, but Oscar had a lingering sharp pain on his shoulder, while one of Solaire’s sides burned as if he had been branded like cattle.

Each kept their respective pain to themselves.

They drank a generous amount of Estus from their flasks. Solaire casted another healing miracle on both of them, but it did not match the power of his previous effort.

Fortunately, Estus proved to be more than effective in restoring their bodies and ridding them of their pain.

Peace between them would have prevailed had it not been for the Humanity that emerged from the Capra Demon’s dying place.

“It’s yours.”

Again, they spoke at the same time.

But they didn’t laugh.

“Oscar, you promised me...”

“You agreed to use it if you needed it more than I did, Solaire.”

“I don’t.”

“I saw you holding your side.”

“And you think I didn’t notice the limp in your shoulder?”

“Some twisted muscles are nowhere near as serious as an internal injury.”

“Estus took care of it. I am no longer in pain.”

“Well, neither am I.”

“What about that cut on your chest? Surely that makes you worthy of the Humanity.”

“It got only through my tunic, not my armor. And if you want to play this game, then what about your helmet? You are lucky that machete didn’t cut it in half and blinded one of your eyes!”

A dreadful image.

Oscar erased it from his mind.

The mention of his tattered tunic helped him focus his attention on another subject.

He unbuckled his belts and took off the ruined surcoat.

The slash had destroyed the crest carefully woven on it, leaving only broken threads in its place.

It could be repaired, but Lordran was not the place to worry about one’s clothes, not unless they provided practical protection.

Dear as it was to Oscar, he decided it was best to leave it behind. He folded it one last time and put in on the grassy floor.

He tried to remember the ceremony where he had been knighted. The memory, while not as broken as many others, was still blurry and incomplete.

All Oscar could remember was being granted the tunic, but the rest were shapeless shadows that flickered occasionally with clearer figures, smells and sounds.

It took every ounce of his self-control to keep his hand away from the ring of illusion guarded inside the bag of his discarded belting.

He wanted to remember that day one last time, before he parted from that physical piece of his past forever.

_Just one more time._

His arm had been about to move when a voice shook him to the core.

“I can repair it.”

Oscar looked at Solaire. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had not noticed the moment Solaire had knelt to his side.

On one hand, Solaire carried the Humanity.

“Hey, don’t look so incredulous! I know how to sew just fine.” Solaire grabbed his own tunic with pride. “This is my own work, and so is my talisman. I can leave your tunic looking as good as new; we just need to find a needle and some thread... do you think the merchant at the burg could sell us some?”

“It’s fine, Solaire. It’s only a tunic, nothing to cry over.” Oscar said. “It means nothing to me anymore. Besides, I am not an elite knight... not like I was back in Astora. Perhaps leaving it behind is for the best.”

Oscar swallowed and thanked Gwyn he had not removed his helmet.

“I can fold it and carry it for you. I’ll secure it on my belt. It would not be hindering me or be a burden at all, Oscar.” Solaire offered kindly, as if he could see Oscar’s face even through the metal visor.

The idea filled Oscar with a bittersweet sentiment. While it was reassuring Solaire could understand him to that extent, it also felt like a breach to Oscar's feelings and thoughts.

When had been the last time someone could see through him with so much clarity?

Had it ever happened before?

“Here.” Solaire approached his hands towards the tunic.

Oscar did not allow it at first, fueled by a desperate need to keep up the appearance that the tunic meant little to him.

He drew breath to repeat with adamantly how he wanted to leave it behind forever, but the act felt meaningless. He wouldn’t fool Solaire or himself.

His stoic façade would gain them nothing other than undeserved harshness toward Solaire. 

For a moment, Oscar felt lost. He did not know how to react to an act of kindness he appreciated but felt was wasted on him.

He had worried Solaire, and all because he hadn’t been able to suppress his ridiculous sentimentalities for an old, tattered and useless piece of cloth.

“See? It fits perfectly!” Solaire exclaimed. The tunic, folded tightly into a cylinder, rested against Solaire’s waist, firmly secured by the grip of his belt. “I’ll fix it up as soon as possible.”

“I’m sorry, Solaire.”

“Huh? About what? I mean it, Oscar. The tunic is almost weightless, I can barely feel it at all. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not that. I am sorry for being so weak.” Oscar stood up. Solaire followed him instantly. “Look at me, all misty-eyed and upset over some stupid material thing, like a child weeping over a broken toy.”

“There’s nothing wrong about getting upset for the loss of our equipment. As knights, our swords, shields, helmets and armors are part of our body, of our souls.”

Solaire put a finger on his helmet, right where the diagonal dent was. “To be honest, I got so mad at the demon for leaving this mark on my heaume that I think I lost control of myself for a moment, and the way it damaged my shield... call me immature, but if my shield had been reduced to rubble again, I would probably be sulking in a corner right now.”

“No, it’s not only about that.” Oscar continued, so ashamed of himself that he did not dare to look at Solaire. “This pathetic grief I feel is not for the tunic itself, but for the memory it conveys. For the past I cling to and refuse to let go. Solaire, you’ve forgiven me, but it comes to me I never rightfully apologized for being so weak. Even now, I don’t know if I have the right to apologize... not when I still cling to my past to the point where, at times, I think I would rather lose myself inside my memories than to continue—”

The bottled up hatred he held for himself had been allowed too much freedom, and it had made Oscar’s confession go into a direction he did not want to explore.

But he had, and he had involved Solaire again.

_Idiot. Idiot. I'm such an idiot._

“Back in the burg, when you and Lautrec went to buy supplies... I used the ring again, Solaire.”

“I know you did, Oscar.” Solaire replied with absolute understanding and not a trace of anger. With a soft chuckle, he added, “You forgot to take it off and pull down your visor before you went to save me from the Black knight, remember?”

“But I never told you what happened when I put it on, and how seriously I considered leaving everything behind so I could dwell on my past for as long as my body and mind allowed. Solaire, the ring... it makes my memories return to me, and when I indulge in them, they feel alive. And I...it scares me. It scares me to think how easily lured I am by it, and how I —”

Solaire held him close clumsily, almost accidentally infusing him with the Humanity on his hand.

Oscar did not realize how overwhelmed he was by distress until it started to fade away as his emotions and body calmed down at comforting weight of Solaire’s arm on his shoulders.

_Why did I say all that? Haven’t I done enough already? Solaire has enough to deal with without me throwing all of this unto him. I am weak... I always have been, but now, I can’t even keep it hidden from others, not even from my friend. It was my greatest strength, the only true quality I was always proud of, but now it’s gone._

If only there was a power in the world that allowed him to unsay those words, Oscar would exchange a part of his soul for it without a second thought.

“I—”

“If you dare to apologize again, I’m going to punch in the gut so hard that you’ll be vomiting Estus for hours. I mean it, Oscar.”

“But I must. I have to... after what I’ve done.”

“For what? For telling me all this? Oscar, I know the last time you opened up to me, I did not react well. To tell you the truth, I was afraid you would never have that level of confidence in me again, and I wouldn’t blame you. For you to trust me enough to show me this part of yourself, despite all that’s happened... I feel humbled and grateful, Oscar.”

“Solaire, I hate feeling so weak.” Oscar said with what little voice he could muster. “Not only for being such a coward longing for the past, but for telling you all this. It’s not how it is supposed to be. I am—”

“An elite knight, a beacon of strength. A pillar of hope that never falters.” Solaire finished for him. “You needn’t be, not all the time, especially not to me. I don’t need or want an undefeatable hero; I just want my friend. A friend I promised I would help in figuring out difficult stuff, remember?”

Oscar did.

It had been at Firelink Shrine, right before they ventured into the Undead burg for the first time.

“I think it’s about time I uphold that promise.” Solaire pulled away from Oscar once he made sure his friend was calm enough. “How can I help you, Oscar? Just tell me what I can do. No matter what it is, we’ll figure it out together.”

It took a moment for Oscar to react.

He nodded silently.

And when he spoke, he did so with without shame.

It was a difficult process, but Solaire’s words still rang loudly inside him.

Was it right of Oscar to bring down his walls to this extent?

A pat of him answered him with a fulminating _no;_ but another part of him, the one which was willing to accept his present rather than seeking refuge in the past, replied with a peaceful _yes_.

Oscar listened to the latter, and though it did not feel like a complete answer, it did not feel wrong.

For Oscar, that was more than enough.

* * *

There was no getting used to the smell of rotten meat and spilled blood. His nose had endured the torture for who knew how long.

His body, tightly trapped in the confines of the barrel, fared no better. His arms and legs itched with painful numbness, and his eyes burned from the useless tears he had shed for what felt like an eternity.

A bitter sob abandoned his throat. It was a pathetic sound, but fear and despair had barred his soul of any sense of self-dignity

“Somebody.” Laurentius cried. His voice echoed inside the dark, filthy room the crazy woman had put him in after her henchmen had captured him, as if he was an game animal to be cooked in a pot. “Please, help me!”

It was hopeless.

No matter how much he cried, Laurentius knew his plea would go unheard.

He cried in solitude, unaware that his grief-stricken voice reached a living being other than the ruthless butchers or the crazed Hollows that lured around those infernal depths.

* * *

_Kirk, with his cursed arm hanging limply to his side and barely able to hold his shield, smiled when the voice of his victim reached him._

_Male, probably young, though it was hard to tell just by his tear-broken voice._

_Regardless, he was sane enough to cry for help, and if his emotions were so strong, then maybe he would prove to be a decent source of Humanity._

_There was only a way to find out._

_With renewed spirit, Kirk went as fast as he could to the hunt of this poor soul._

_Behind him, the now indifferent basilisks let out a collective roar._


	31. A small flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> Another chapter for the collection! Took me a while to firgure it out, but I finally managed to finish it! There was meant to be a battle scene in this chapter, but the chapter was already too long without it so... battle scene next chapter! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to Mrs littletall, shady_elf, inedible and Himmel for the comments! Also thanks to Mrs Littletall for helping me out with next chapter's battle scene :D Your tips really helped me organize my ideas!
> 
> I hope you like the chapter!

There was strength to be found in abandonment and defeat.

Failure, no matter how bitter, could be a more powerful motivator than promises of victory.

The possibility of payback and redemption was alluring, and for a disgraced and dishonored knight, it often was the only light left in his forsaken world.

Lautrec was no stranger to it, but never before had it burned so fiercely inside him. It scorched his heart with hatred and seared his veins with boiling blood.

After finally cutting the rope tightly tied around his ankles, he sprang up on his feet, ignoring the numbing feeling that spread from his shoulders to his legs.

His torso, no longer golden, was dully painted red with dried blood. A reeking metallic fragrance permeated his body.

He clenched his fingers around the handle of his dagger. It had been the only weapon he had been able to wield with his wrists tied. Freeing his hands had not been a gentle or short process, but Carim knights knew well the meaning of perseverance.

Just like they knew the meaning of shame and its consequences.

_Fina._

His lady did not answer.

She was gone, and he had no one to blame but himself.

He had allowed himself to be humiliated by a Vinheimer in the most pathetic way possible.

If a knight was to die, it was to happen in a battle to the death while protecting his lady’s life and honor. To perish outside the heat of battle was the biggest infraction imaginable, even more so if the killer was not a warrior, but a woman using poisonous means or some cowardly man employing dirty tricks.

Were he not Undead, Lautrec would have never been welcomed back in Carim, and if he still had a human lady to protect, she would have forsaken him because of his weakness and his reliance on the pity of a couple of idiotic Astorans.

A head-splitting migraine became more intense the more Lautrec was consumed by his fury. Soon, his hatred became too great to keep it all to himself, so he poured it into the Astorans that had saved his life.

Oscar, the worthless former elite knight in love with a meaningless prophecy.

Solaire, the idiot brute obsessed with the sun and blinded by his ridiculous covenant.

They had taken everything from him.

They had dared to pity Lautrec the Embraced.

It was no wonder Fina had abandoned him.

_Fina, my lady._

Lautrec picked up his shotel swords and helmet. His humiliation at the sight of his refilled Estus flask, no doubt the work of that moron Solaire, was so intense that he almost crushed the recipient with his golden sole.

Barely able to control himself, Lautrec picked up the recipient and secured it on his belt.

He would make them pay.

He would rip their Humanities from their fresh corpses and feast his swords with their blood.

 _Fina,_ _my love._

He would recover the honor that had been stolen from him and become the knight Fina deserved.

_I will set things right._

The only knight he could be.

* * *

“Do you hear that?” Solaire asked amidst the morbid silence of the depths, his sword still wet with the blood of the Hollows he had killed.

“A man.” Oscar replied, steading his hold on the hilt of his straight sword.

The distant cries were colored with pain and despair, like those that filled the alleys of royal dungeons.

“Let’s go, quickly!” Solaire urged him, already descending a rotten set of wooden stairs.

Oscar followed him without saying a word but with his sword fully prepared to attack any incoming enemy that dared to stand on their way.

Two Undead dogs were expecting them as soon as they reached the lower floor, a kitchen in the most rudimentary sense of the word.

Each knight took care of one beast.

They were given not a moment a pause, for as soon as the dogs had perished, a corpulent man with his face concealed by an old sack attacked them.

He came from behind a table. He wore a bloody apron in a grotesque parody of a butcher.

Though his technique was clumsy and untrained, the swings of his machete were filled with a strength and savagery that made up for his lack of strategy.

With their combined efforts, Oscar and Solaire managed to put an end to the deranged villain. His hefty body hit the floor with a loud thump that was devoured by the eternal murmur of dripping water.

“We have just entered this place and already half its dwellers want us death.” Oscar said, looking with disgust at the man that had tried to kill them.

Solaire did not answer.

“Solaire?” Oscar turned around. “Is something the matter?”

He had just finished making the question when his eyes discovered the reason behind Solaire’s silence.

Butchered human limbs and skinned chunks of muscles were scattered all over the old, blood-stained table.

And next to it, discard like bones from a feast, were the torsos and disfigured heads of the victims.

Oscar had not noticed how abundant and penetrating was the stench of human death, trapped in battle as he had been. The natural stink of the nearby sewers also made a great job at distracting his nostrils from the sickly and disgustingly sweet aroma of rotting corpses. 

Now, the aromas filled his entire being.

A memory flashed before his eyes.

The Chosen Undead, lying on the snowy ground outside the Asylum, with their blood gushing from the hole where their ripped arm had once been.

Oscar gagged and lifted the visor of his helmet, expecting his stomach to send to his throat what little content it held. He clenched his eyes until he could see nothing but darkness, but not even in that pitch-black obscurity did the image of his tortured friend disappear.

_Solaire._

It was only because of him that Oscar could control his reaction and overcome the dread drenching his soul.

Solaire was there with him, paralyzed in a silent shock that said more than any exclamation could.

This was not the time to succumb to awful memories; it was the time to be strong.

Oscar spat the excess of drool in his mouth. With an inelegant but quick wipe of his gauntlet, he cleaned his lips and returned his visor to its rightful position.

He rushed to Solaire’s side.

Solaire had not taken his helmet off; his eyes remained fixed on the twisted display of inhuman violence the dead butcher had perpetuated for who knew how long before their arrival.

He was completely still, and when Oscar put a hand on his back, he felt only a slight tremble coming from Solaire’s body, like a quickened heartbeat that sent blood flowing at an immense speed.

“How could he?” Solaire muttered so lowly that Oscar could barely hear him. “What kind of person...”

He said nothing more.

“It’s over now.” Oscar said softly, putting his other hand on Solaire’s shoulder and gently turning him away from the awful sight. To do so was a relief for him too. “Whatever madness this man committed here, we put an end to it. He won’t hurt anyone again.”

“All this people.” Solaire continued, starting to shake more noticeably. “Oscar, they were not Undead. They were—”

Solaire choked on his own frustration. Oscar had noticed that detail, but he would not have brought it up to Solaire if he had not discovered it on his own.

An Undead corpse could not be butchered to that brutal extent; it would eventually fade into the wind and be recreated in a bonfire., or it would turn Hollow.

Only a true living body could undergo that sickening process of dismembering and still remain existing.

“We’ll set this right, Solaire.” Oscar stated. “I don’t know exactly what is going in this place, but we won’t allow it to continue any longer. No one else will suffer this same fate again.”

As if listening to his words, the man trapped somewhere in that maze cried again.

Neither Oscar nor Solaire needed to say something. They followed the distraught voice and left that cursed kitchen behind them.

More Hollows and Undead dogs attacked them.

Solaire killed most of them. He did so with a fury that Oscar would have admired were it not so concerning to witness. More than a Warrior of Sunlight or a knight of Astora, Solaire moved and attacked like a savage blinded by bloodlust.

Oscar understood the reason of his fury. He too attacked with more brutal intent as the memory of the mutilated corpses glowed vividly on his mind, but his anger was nothing compared to Solaire’s.

His savagery, while not a flaw for a warrior, was disturbing for Oscar; it had been ever since he had first witnessed it when Solaire had almost killed Patches the thief with his bare hands.

Had fate made them enemies rather than friends, Oscar could not see himself defeating Solaire, not if he fought him while in this state he was in.

Solaire had just killed a torch-wielding Hollow when another butcher, almost identical to the one they had killed in the kitchen, appeared behind him.

“Solaire!”

Oscar felt his heart drop to his feet as he rushed to attack the enemy before he had the chance to hurt Solaire.

He would not make it in time. His mind knew it, but he refused to accept it.

He would deflect the attack and plunge his sword deep inside the butcher’s head.

He would save Solaire.

The butcher brought down his machete with a strength and speed that made the air whistle as the sharp edge cut through it.

Solaire had reacted to Oscar’s warning and his own sense of hearing, but he would not be able to correctly stop the attack from that position.

_Solaire._

Oscar thought in despair as the image of watching him die a horrible death slowly became real.

The machete met a surface.

Oscar heard the shattering break of Solaire’s shoulder as it was cut off from his body.

_Not again._

Oscar blinked, and in that fraction of second, he saw the Chosen Undead.

_Not again!_

When he opened his eyes, he unveiled the cruel trick his mind had played on him.

The echo of the clash had not been caused by the machete breaking Solaire’s bones, but by it violently clashing on the surface of his round shield.

Solaire resisted the impact despite the unfavorable angle of his arm and elbow, and before the butcher had time to comprehend what was happening, the sunlight sword entered his mouth from under his jaw.

Solaire pushed the weapon up until its tip reappeared from the top of the butcher’s head.

The butcher gurgled as life abandoned him. His corpse did not collapse.

Solaire held him on his feet.

The butcher’s arms hung limply by his side, his machete already discarded and forgotten on the water-filled floor.

Oscar snapped out of his shock when Solaire finally let the corpse drop.

“Solaire.” Oscar ventured, relieved beyond words that his friend was free of harm.

Solaire either ignored him or did not hear him. Instead, he began to stamp his foot against the nape of the dead butcher.

His boot soon cracked the skull like an eggshell and began to draw blood.

“Solaire, enough!” Oscar grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him away. It took every strength in his muscles to move Solaire, trapped and immersed in his fury as he was. “He’s dead. There’s no need for any of this.”

“He killed them! They killed innocent people!” Solaire exclaimed, walking menacingly towards the butcher again, as if determined to continue stomping his head until notching but a bloody mush remained.

Oscar blocked his way.

“He’s paid for his crimes. Unleashing your wrath upon his corpse will gain you nothing.”

Solaire glared at him. Oscar could see his eyes from behind the slit of his heaume. Though Solaire’s anger was not directed at him, Oscar still felt a shiver running down his spine.

Standing up to him at this moment when his mind was so clouded by his emotions did not seem like a good idea, but Oscar did not desist.

He remained firm where he stood.

Solaire’s expression began to change. His anger finally crumbled down and gave place to the true feeling tormenting his soul.

“None of what we saw should have happened.” Solaire said. “None of it makes sense. No matter what I do, I can’t change what happened to those people. They are gone. I can’t help them, and it angers me. It angers me that they died such a horrible death, and all for what? For the sake of the perversions of these awful men?”

Solaire’s voice abandoned him in the last syllable. He looked away, a hand clenching his tunic right above his heart.

Oscar put his hand on Solaire’s and held it there.

“I’m sorry.” Solaire whispered. “I allowed my emotions get the best of me.”

“Don’t worry about it. Your emotions may have gotten out of control, but they were not wrong in nature, Solaire.”

“I acted like a mindless brute. Oscar, this is the second time you see me like this... perhaps even the third or the fourth. What must you think of me?”

“I believe I already told you I think of you as nothing else other than a true knight. Don’t doubt my words so easily. I don’t go around throwing compliments to people just out of the kindness of my heart. I’m not that sort of man.”

“Siegmeyer said the same thing about you.”

“So you two were talking about me behind my back?” Oscar said, and couldn’t help to laugh at Solaire’s stutter as he assured him they had not spoken ill of him. “Siegmeyer... that’s a good name to hear at this moment.”

“It is.” Solaire agreed, his hand relaxing and letting go of his tunic. “I hope he is well. Let’s go see him again once we are done with this place; and Andre too.”

“That sounds like a good plan.” Oscar said, not realizing how much he liked the idea of a peaceful moment with friends until his mind painted the image clearly for him. “We’ll go see them together, Solaire.”

“Because even in this dreadful world where people like these butchers exist, there are also people like Siegmeyer, Andre, the firekeeper and you, Oscar. When I think of this, then everything makes sense.” Solaire said, holding Oscar’s hand. “I must not forget this, no matter what cruelties this land still has in store for us. If I do forget, I—”

“You won’t. I’ll be here to make sure you remember.” Oscar replied. “Even if you get angry at me and decide to ignore me with a childish pout on your mouth.”

Solaire breathed a tiny laugh. After a moment, he let go of his friend’s hand.

“Come on, let’s go. That man still needs our help; I can hear him sobbing. He is not far.”

“Lead the way.” Oscar answered with a nod, grateful to see Solaire free of the hatred that had almost tainted his soul.

But he knew that incidents such as this left scars.

He was not free of it, and he doubted he could ever forget the image of the kitchen filled with the stench of death and filthy with the sight of human flesh.

Solaire would not forget it either.

Yet, what he had said to Solaire was true.

He would be there for him, and he knew his friend would be there for him too.

* * *

“Thank you. I owe my life to you.”

Solaire had lost count of how many times the pyromancer had expressed his gratitude. Though repetitive, the gesture did not annoy him.

He knew that was not the case for Oscar, and that his friend’s silence was the result of growing impatience rather than of caution to keep his Hollowed voice a secret.

Maybe it was a result of both.

It was also a prudent move. The pyromancer would undoubtedly not react favorably if he knew Oscar was half-Hollow, not when he was still scarred and horrified of almost becoming the next prey of the man-eating butchers.

He had screamed without control when he and Oscar had entered the room he was trapped in. It had been Solaire’s duty to calm him down with soft and gentle words while Oscar freed him from the confines of the barrel that served as his cage.

The pyromancer had dropped to his knees and wept. When Solaire had knelt to his side, the pyromancer had clung to him as if he was drowning on a raging sea.

Oscar had drawn out his sword, but Solaire had gestured to his friend that it was alright.

It had taken a while for the pyromancer to calm down, but he had not been able to stand on his own feet.

Solaire had offered him some of his Estus, but the pyromancer had declined, claiming that his weakness was not due to physical exhaustion or injuries.

“I thought I was going to die at her hands.” He had said, his voice interrupted by hiccups and some remnants of his previous sobbing. “I was sure she was going to eat me.”

“She?” Solaire had tried to discover more about the woman, but he had stopped after noticing how close the pyromancer had been to breaking down again.

He was in no state to be on his own, and so Solaire had decided to take him with them for the time being, at least until they found a bonfire where he could be safe.

When he had expressed his decision to Oscar, even without seeing his face, he could tell his friend did not wholly agree with the idea. Still, after a moment of silence, he had nodded in approval.

That’s how they had ended up with a new traveling partner. One much kinder than Lautrec, but not as practical or useful in any potential encounter with enemies.

Pyromancers were dangerous and powerful, chaotic and destructive when they unleashed their power without any restraint. Solaire had faced them in battle numerous times, and each battle had been a challenge that had tested his abilities to the extreme.

Perhaps this particular pyromancer was no different, but if he truly had any hidden potential, it was tightly locked by the chains of his traumatic experience.

It was a shame, for if he had been in better conditions, he could prove to be a formidable ally.

_But he is not. He is a man in need of help, and I will not abandon him._

“Careful, there are some stairs ahead.” Solaire gently warned the pyromancer as he carried him. 

“Thank you.” The pyromancer replied as Solaire helped him walk down the small stone steps. “A-a Warrior of Sunlight you are, aren’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“Y-your tunic, a-and your shield.”

“Oh, of course.”

“And because... any other person would have left me to fend on my own. Look at me. I- I am nothing but a deadweight.”

“You aren’t. You went through something awful and you need to recover. There’s no shame in that, and neither me nor my friend think any less of you because of it.”

“Your friend.” The pyromancer said, looking at Oscar with sad eyes. He walked in front of them with his sword unsheathed. The pyromancer let out a humorless chuckle. “I- I am not sure he shares the sentiment.”

Solaire was slightly taken aback by the pyromancer’s perceptiveness. He thought of rebuking the statement, but what good would it do?

It would be patronizing for the pyromancer, and also a lie.

“Regardless,” Solaire stated, pulling the pyromancer’s arm to steady him, “he stands ready to protect you. Oscar may be overly cautious and a bit distrustful, but he is a good man and a brave knight. Don’t think bad of him... after all, we haven’t really had the best of experiences when it comes to traveling companions.”

Solaire remembered Lautrec almost fondly.

Almost.

The pyromancer sighed as he pondered on what Solaire had told him. “O-of course. To be cautious and distrustful in this hellish land is only pertinent and sensible. Maybe I was a bit too sensitive. D-do not misunderstand, I am grateful to him as much as I am to you, even if he doesn’t want me around.”

“He’ll come around , you’ll see.” Solaire assured him with a smile behind his helmet. “Just give him some time.”

The pyromancer looked at Solaire, and much to his relief, he smiled at him too. “I-I can do that. By the way, what is your name, Warrior of Sunlight?”

“I’m Solaire. Solaire of Astora. Oscar is from Astora as well.”

“Ah, A-astorans. Good people with good hearts; except on the battlefield, according to what the few warrior pyromancers that survive and manage to return home say about you.”

Solaire did not know how to reply to that, even if the pyromancer’s tone was not antagonistic.

“T-then again, all men become something else on the battlefield, regardless of their place of birth. We pyromancers have not been kind to Astora on many occasions... I-I apologize. I have not fought any battles against your people, but still I feel I need to—”

“There’s no need. Not when my hands are not clean of your people’s blood.” Solaire said neutrally despite his heart was burning with shame.

When he had killed on the battlefield, he had done so to protect his homeland and fulfill his duty as a soldier, and eventually, as a knight.

But he felt no pride in recounting his deeds, no matter how much the creed of knighthood stated that every death they caused to their enemies was a badge of honor.

He had never enjoyed reminiscing about the men he killed, fully aware that for each soldier and knight that perished by his blade, he was taking away a son, brother, husband or friend from someone else.

It was one of his main reasons why he chose to avoid conflict as much as possible.

Solaire allowed the pyromancer his silence. Deep down, there was a small sense of loss. He did not regret his confession, but he wondered if he had broken something beyond repair with it.

“That’s in the past. H-here in Lordran, Undead as we are, none of that matters anymore.” The pyromancer said. “Besides, to me, you and Oscar will always be the knights that saved me. That’s all that matters to me.”

Solaire nodded, deciding that thanking it for him would be out of place.

“I-I am Laurentius, of the Great Swamp... though I think the last part is a bit redundant by now.”

“When are our last names not redundant?”

“And confusing as well, especially if many people share the same first name. L-luckily for me, Laurentius is not a common name back at the swamp.”

“I can say the same about Solaire.”

“As for Oscar... well, at least I’m sure that his common name gives him the ambition to stand out.”

“I never thought about it that way.” Solaire said without being able to contain a not so discreet laugh. “But it does make sense.”

Laurentius imitated him.

Oscar halted his steps.

Both the Warrior of Sunlight and the pyromancer fell silent at the same time.

Solaire could only hope Oscar had not taken the quip personally. He was about to apologize when Oscar raised his hand.

He moved to a side so Solaire could see what waited for them at the end of that long tunnel. A hollow wielding a torch.

The creature was alone, but its fire could become a great danger if it decided to make Solaire and Laurentius the targets of its aggression.

Still reluctant to speak in front of Laurentius, Oscar signaled Solaire, telling him he would go and kill the Hollow.

In the meanwhile, Solaire was to say back with Laurentius.

Solaire nodded in agreement and watched as Oscar took a step ahead. The splashing echo of his boot touching the water had just faded when Laurentius raised his voice.

“Stop!”

The scream was loud enough to alert the Hollow of their presence.

Solaire’s body tensed and he put his free hand on the hilt of his sword. Yet, the Hollow did not rush at them. It merely stared at them, with its torch raised high.

Oscar, without taking his eyes off the Hollow, still demanded an explanation by stumping his boot on the floor.

Laurentius gasped softly, intimidated and not without shame of his imprudence.

With a meek voice, and after gathering enough courage, he said, “U-up there on the roof. Look.”

Solaire moved his eyes up before Oscar and saw numerous, twitching and disgusting blobs stuck to the roof like leeches on a man’s skin.

The creatures, if they could even be called that, were like nothing Solaire had ever seen. They were not animals, and he couldn’t say if they were truly alive in the first place.

But they were dangerous, of that he was sure.

Oscar retreated from the step he had taken, repulsed by the abominations. He regained his composure as fast as it had dwindled and remained firmly by Solaire’s and Laurentius side.

He searched inside one of the bags of his belting and extracted a couple of throwing knives. A firebomb may have been a better choice, but he and Solaire had run out of them during their fight against the Capra Demon.

Though not as effective, the throwing knives could still stun the creatures enough to make them drop down, and once they were on the floor, Oscar could dispose of them one by one.

“Wait.” Laurentius intervened before Oscar threw the knife. Oscar looked over his shoulder, and Solaire wondered what look he was dedicating to Laurentius from underneath his helmet.

Not a kind one, that was for sure.

“I-I know something that will work better.” Laurentius continued. He looked at Solaire. “It’s alright, you can put me down. I-I think I can stand on my own now.”

Solaire let go of his arm carefully. One of Laurentius’s feet failed him for a second, but Solaire grabbed him by the shoulder before he could fall.

From the corner of his eye, Solaire saw how Oscar had also tried to rush to Laurentius’ aid. He didn’t know if Laurentius had noticed, but he hoped he had.

“S-sorry about that. I’m fine.” Laurentius said with a soft panting. “Those blobs, I’ve encounter them before. Physical attacks do them little damage. However...”

Laurentius spread his arms with his hands up, and from his palms, two fire orbs materialized. The murmur of fire and its heat sent Solaire to the times where he had witnessed that same pyromancy happen during his battles against the natives of the Great Swamp.

Laurentius, weakened as he was, still demonstrated a power that would have put Oscar and Solaire in a tight situation if he had been their opponent instead of their friend.

The fire orbs grew until they were twice the size of Solaire’s shield. It was an imposing sight, one that Oscar could not see as anything else other than dangerous.

“Oscar.” Solaire said at him after seeing how Oscar had begun to aim his sword at Laurentius. Oscar reacted to his name and he looked at Solaire. “It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

It took him a moment, and he didn’t so with absolute conviction, but Oscar managed to put down his sword and allow Laurentius to finish his attack. He moved out of Laurentius’ way.

Laurentius, with his teeth bared and his hooded forehead sweating from the effort, aimed and threw a fire orb to the closest group of blobs.

The fire spread among the shrieking creatures and it completely incinerated half of them. Bizarre ashes began to rain down the roof, the only remnants the blobs left behind after their _‘deaths’._

The second fire orb took care of the rest with the same efficacity. Laurentius’ fire left the roof scorched black; the silhouettes of his fallen enemies imprinted on it like ghosts.

The Hollow roared with explicit anger and rushed towards the three men in a fit of savagery, but Oscar put an end to its madness with a throwing knife that pierced its brain. The Hollow dropped to the floor with an unceremonious splash.

The fire of its torch perished together with its owner as soon as the water engulfed them.

Laurentius collapsed as well.

“S-see? That was effective.” He said, resting his weight on his hands. He looked at Solaire and then at Oscar. “The least I could do. You saved my life, after all.”

Oscar approached him. Laurentius turned pale as he stood in front of him.

“I—” Laurentius looked down. “You still don’t trust me. I understand, Oscar. I’ll go, ... I am sorry, Solaire, but this is the best choice for all of us.”

Laurentius tried to stand up but he failed.

Solaire tried to intervene and go to his aid. He also planned to tell him that Oscar did not want him to leave, even if he wasn’t sure that was completely accurate.

Before Solaire could move, Oscar offered his hand to a struggling Laurentius.

The pyromancer stared blankly at the knight.

“But... are you sure?”

Oscar answered with a silent nod. Laurentius looked at Solaire for further confirmation, and when the Warrior of Sunlight granted it to him, he finally accepted Oscar’s hand.

It was him who carried Laurentius the rest of the way across the end of the tunnel. When they reached the door at the other side and opened it with the same key Oscar had ‘borrowed’ from Lautrec, they discovered a warm bonfire waiting for them.

“Ah, fire.” Laurentius said with relief. “It feels nice.”

Oscar still refused to say something, but Solaire knew he agreed with Laurentius.

He did too, and so he took a sit in the company of his friends.

For the first time in a long while, he felt truly at peace.

* * *

Laurentius was starting to recover.

He smiled more often and looked at Oscar with more confidence. Unlike Solaire, he had not taken off his helmet.

He wanted to, but he did not wish to scare Laurentius with his appearance. He knew his absolute silence and his aloof behavior made him look as unapproachable, perhaps even mean, but he had no choice.

Laurentius had gone through a horrible experience, being trapped like a game animal by a couple of demented savages. The least he deserved was for him to be repulsed and frightened by Oscar’s Hollowing.

It was a blessing Solaire was more than able to supply and carry most of the conversation. He and Laurentius spoke of trivial, casual things than had managed to put a small smile on Oscar.

Solaire spoke how he had painted the sun on his shield, of how he had learned to sew when he was a child, of how he planned to repair Oscar’s tunic soon and of the occasion he had prepared Estus soup for Oscar, with less than favorable results.

He had said nothing of the grimmer details of that story, and Oscar appreciated his discretion.

The pyromancer, though not exactly a skilled speaker, still laughed and added as much as he could to the exchange.

He spoke of some of the traditions of the Great Swamp, of how the first time he had tried to create a fire ball he had scorched his eyebrows and of how he had never been particularly popular among his fellow pyromancers.

He and Solaire tried to include Oscar, but there was just as much as Oscar could add to the whole thing when he couldn’t speak. Still, Oscar did his best to appear relaxed and friendly, but it was difficult to accomplish when he had been so cold to Laurentius before; and the fact he couldn’t depend on his facial expressions to convey the true feelings of his heart made him no favors.

Though he appreciated their kindness, he also wished Solaire and Laurentius would just ignore him and continue their conversation without him.

It would make the situation much more comfortable for all of them, and it would also free Laurentius of the stress of thinking Oscar still resented him in some manner.

He wondered if Laurentius thought his initial distrustfulness had been fueled by some prejudice against pyromancers, and of how that could have spoiled any kind of friendliness that could have occurred between them.

Truth was that Oscar had distrusted him only for being a stranger. Though he had confronted people from the Great Swamp in the past, he had never held any resentment towards them.

They were a peaceful community, but the world had never been kind to them in return.

Unlike the aggressive Carim, the bold Catarina and even the imposing Astora, the Great Swamp fought mostly for survival, and only when they had no other choice.

But what did it all matter?

He couldn’t express any of this to Laurentius.

_The ring._

If he was wielding it, he wouldn’t have to be afraid of showing his face or speaking. He could talk to Laurentius and apologize for his behavior.

He could set things rights and wholly join him and Solaire in a moment of piece and light-hearted camaraderie he much needed and wanted.

But he couldn’t.

The ring was not longer in his possession. He had given it to Solaire.

After his friend had offered him to help him in any way he could, Oscar had accepted the offer and asked him to take the ring away from him, but without disposing of it.

It had been a foolish petition, one that Oscar had made out of impulse. He wanted the ring to be available to him during times of need where a normal appearance would be useful, but he did not want to keep enduring the temptation of putting it on at every chance he got.

Solaire had agreed to it, in exchange that Oscar kept the Humanity the Capra Demon had left behind.

It was an easy condition to accept. He did not use it on himself, and still kept it guarded on the same bag where he once had kept the ring.

_I should have put the ring on before we rescued Laurentius._

Oscar chided himself for his poor judgment. He and Solaire had been too distracted and shocked by the butcher’s work on innocent people to remember this.

_I was careless. And now I must accept the consequences._

Oscar folded his legs and rested his hands on his knees. He closed his eyes, decided to enjoy the fire’s warmth as Solaire and Laurentius enjoyed their talk without his intervention.

They were laughing, and Oscar wanted them to remain that way.

“That’s good!” Laurentius said after recovering his breath. “Oscar, can I ask you something?”

The question was so sudden that Solaire choked on his ongoing laughter. Oscar jolted his head up, and all the sense of comfort that had gathered inside him disappeared.

Laurentius looked at him.

It was Oscar’s time to feel uncomfortable.

He nodded, wishing the question was something he could answer with a simple _yes_ or _no_.

“W-well, I was just wondering....” Laurentius looked away, but when he looked at Oscar again, his eyes met Oscar’s even as they remained hidden behind his helmet. “You are Hollow, aren’t you? Not-not completely, but—”

Solaire’s attention flickered between Oscar and Laurentius, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes wide.

Oscar felt his mouth go dry.

“I don’t mean to be rude.” Laurentius said. He was almost as mortified and nervous as Oscar, his hands shaking as he rubbed them. “I- I just wanted you to know that... well, that I know. It’s alright. Y-you don’t have to pretend in front of me anymore.

Oscar couldn’t answer. He had believed he had made a good job at keeping his Hollowing a secret; he had kept his helmet always on, he had not allowed a single sound to leave his body, not even when he had been overcome with horror when he had seen the twitching blobs on the roof. 

It had not been enough.

He had failed.

Laurentius had still seen through him.

His incompetence was embarrassing.

Oscar wished he could hide inside his armor and escape his shame, but there was no place where he could hide from Laurentius’ meek and bashful eyes.

“I-I am sorry.” Laurentius said, and Oscar could see how deeply he regretted having brought up the subject in the first place.

“You did nothing wrong.” Oscar replied.

Laurentius gasped under his breath and backed away as if Oscar had tried to attack him.

Oscar had expected a similar reaction, but it still stung deeply.

Every time he thought he had gotten used to his Hollowed voice, a situation arose to remind him he hadn’t, and that he would never stop longing for a normal body.

He was branded by sickness and a curse.

He was little more than a monster.

He had no real right to think otherwise.

Solaire stood up and sat down next to Oscar, as if trying to counter Laurentius’ reaction and show the pyromancer how wrong he was about him.

“I—” Laurentius tried to say more, but Solaire mercilessly cut his speech short with a glare.

It should have been enough to keep him quiet, but Laurentius did not give up so easily.

“It wasn’t my intention. Oscar, I never meant—”

“You’ve said enough, Laurentius.”

“No! Oscar needs to hear this... I need to say this! My reaction was wrong and out of place. I- I am nothing but a coward, a pathetic man that couldn’t keep himself safe and always loses his courage as soon as he is in danger. But this is not an excuse for how I reacted, Oscar.”

Solaire drew breath to speak, but Oscar stopped him from doing so by putting a hand on his knee.

Solaire looked at him.

Oscar nodded slowly, and reluctantly but wholly respecting his friend’s wishes, he said no more. After redirecting his attention to Laurentius, Oscar carefully removed his helmet and exposed his face to the man.

There was only the fleeting shadow of a grimace on Laurentius’ features, but it was gone and quickly replaced by a soft smile.

It was not natural, and it required effort.

It was probably for that same reason that Oscar appreciated it all the more.

“Don’t say it; I know.” Oscar said while tracing his fingers across his face. “My looks left you speechless.”

Laurentius giggled nervously, unsure if the reaction would earn him the scorn of Solaire. It probably would have, had Oscar not looked at Solaire to show him he was smiling too.

“L-looks aren’t everything.” Laurentius commented. “I-it’s what’s inside that counts!”

“If that’s true, then may lord Gwyn have mercy on me...”

“Oscar, don’t say that!”

Before Oscar had the chance to stop Solaire and tell him it was a joke, Solaire had already put his arm around his neck and pulled him closer to him, accidentally rendering Oscar incapable of speaking.

“You are a brave, noble, smart, kind, capable, selfless, talented...”

“You might as well say I am an angel, Solaire.” Oscar gasped after finally succeeding in lightly freeing his neck from Solaire’s arm.

“... just, merciful and worthy knight. Your Hollowing is meaningless. It defines nothing of who you are as a man.” Solaire helped Oscar back to a straight position.

Oscar wished to brush away the compliments he did not deserve with a quip, but his tongue was stuck to his palate.

“I-I just met you, and I can’t say I know you enough to say such kind things about you.” Laurentius added, earning to himself the attention of the Astorans. “But if Solaire says it, then I believe it with all my heart. Oscar, I- I think we did not start in the best of terms.”

“We didn’t.” Oscar agreed humbly. “It was my fault too. Forgive me for being so distrustful of you, Laurentius.”

“T-that’s fine. Like I told Solaire, I understand your caution.” Laurentius looked at his hand for a moment. He wavered before gently offering it to Oscar. “H-how about we start all over again? I-I am Laurentius of the Great Swamp.”

“Oscar. Oscar of Astora.”

They shook hands. They tried to remain serious, but it didn’t take long for them to laugh at the unnecessary formality.

Soon, the three of them again became immersed in conversation, one where Oscar now had a full presence and where they slightly dared to tackle the subject of the butchers and Laurentius’ capture.

The pyromancer’s stutter accentuated the more he spoke about the incident, but when Oscar and Solaire told him there was no need to talk about the incident if he didn’t want to, he refused.

“I-I need to share this.” Laurentius declared with misty but determined eyes. “It w-will make what happened feel real, and i-it will be easier f-for me to heal.”

Oscar and Solaire understood, and so Laurentius began with the tale of how he had been captured as soon as he had arrived to Lordran.

The culprits had not been only the butchers.

There had also been a woman.

A woman for a taste for human flesh and with a heart devoid of mercy.

* * *

Mildred dropped to her knees at the sight of her dead sister.

She had been given a worse death than the other. Her skull was cracked open, with some of her brain peeking out like the beak of a cheek trying to hatch from its egg.

She turned her corpse around and removed the sack from her sister’s head. She gazed at her Hollowed face one last time before she faded from existence forever, just like her other sister had done back in the kitchen.

All that remained from both of them were their bloodied sacks and their discarded machetes.

Mildred left her sister’s belongings on her dying spot and got back on her feet, her body shaking with a fury like no other.

How many culprits had been?

One?

Two?

Maybe more?

She didn’t care.

She would kill them and feast on their corpses.

They would pay for what they had done!

They would—

A prickly hand dug its metal spikes on her wrist. Mildred cried a voiceless scream as the man forced her down to the wet floor.

Blood dropped from her pierced skin and mixed with the dirty water.

The knight of thorns captured her other wrist with the same hand and held her arms abover her head, uncaring of the injuries his armor inflected on her body.

He had never been an ally to her, but Mildred had never thought he would dare to attack her in such manner.

Did they not share the corpses of the Undead they killed and the living people she and her sisters kidnapped at the outskirts of Lordran?

He kept the Humanities; she and her sisters kept the meat.

It had been an implicit agreement reached after ages of violence, one that gained both sides a lot more than their constant battles had ever done.

Mildred hated herself for her naivety.

Of course the knight of thorns would betray her.

It had been only a matter of time.

Had he killed her sisters too?

The thought gave Mildred the strength to fight even if that meant her skin and muscles would get torn apart by the knight’s gauntlets.

Pain was temporary, but vengeance was eternal.

“I know what your thinking.” The knight of thorns said. “It was not me. Had I killed your sisters, my sword would have left her bodies so disfigured that you wouldn’t have been able to recognize them.”

Lies.

All lies.

Lies from a man.

Lies from a knight!

The knight of thorns was now struggling to keep her pinned down on the floor

Mildred smiled. She would soon break free.

Then she would make him wish he had never been born into the world.

“I know who killed them. They are not far away.” The knight of thorns lowered his head until his helmet touched with Mildred’s forehead, making her bleed. “Listen; can your hear them?”

Mildred growled at the knight, but despite her anger, she did hear them.

Steps and voices echoing through the sewers.

“Two knights and a pyromancer, the same you captured not long ago. It was them. They killed your sisters after doing unspeakable things to them. I heard them talking and bragging among themselves about it. How they laughed and laughed.” The knight of thorns continued, slowly easing her grip on Mildred and getting back on his feet.

Mildred laid still on the wet floor, wishing the water could rinse her ears from what the knight had just told her and free her of the images her mind painted for her.

Tears filled her eyes and she wept in silence for the sisters that had been taken away from her.

For the sisters that had been victims of the cruelty so proper of knights.

“I know you want to kill them. So do I; but we can’t defeat them on our own.” The knight of thorns looked at her, standing tall to her side, his pitch-black armor devouring what little light existed on the depths. “What do you say? Will you join me?”

The knight of thorns raised his sword and held it just above Mildred’s heart.

“Or shall I send you to your sisters' side?"


	32. Stung by metal thorns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading, leaving kudos and to Mrs littletall, solleret and shady_elf for the comments!
> 
> I hope you like the chapter!

He had never trusted the woman nor her sisters. They were unpredictable, ruthless and merciless.

And deadly.

Kirk smiled.

They were not unlike himself.

And yet, despite the many times they had tried to hunt him down like starving lionesses, he felt pity for the disgraceful fate they had met.

The butchers, always so proud of their strength, had died an unworthy and unimpressive death.

Kirk had witnessed their demises, but he had not intervened.

He had arrived at that part of the depths expecting to find the newest victim of the sisters. He would have waited for them to butcher the poor bastard; then, he would have harvested his Humanity.

But two knights had appeared.

They were not the average fools that decided to play hero and ventured into Lordran untrained and ill-equipped; they were full-fledged knights.

Kirk had always been proud of his skills, but to face two knights on his own when his left arm was cursed by the basilisks' plague would have been a death sentence. Even if he did manage to kill one of the knights, the other would finish him off.

And so, he had allowed the knights to snuff the butchers’ lives forever.

The women would not come back. They had been too Hollowed; the sanity they had held on their minds had been as scarce as the Humanity stored inside their souls.

It had been a miracle they had not gone Hollow long ago. Kirk had often wondered why they did not feed their souls Humanities as often as they fed their stomachs human flesh.

Had they not been so deranged and controlled by their lower instincts, perhaps Kirk would have expressed his concern out loud.

Maybe there could have been a more civilized agreement he could have reached with them, had their minds not been so corrupted and twisted by their hunger and hatred.

Even so, the sisters had their moments of lucidity.

When their bellies were full and they momentarily lost interest in killing him, the sisters allowed him to keep the Humanities from the corpses they butchered.

It had always been a wordless exchange among them, and not even the saner of the sisters, the woman with a body untouched by the Hollowing, had ever showed interest in the precious loot they so easily gave to him.

Did they even know the true worth of those dark essences?

Did they have no interest on using them on themselves at all?

Whatever the reason, whether it was ignorance or indifference, it no longer mattered.

They had died.

Perhaps, if they had used some of those Humanities, things would have been different.

Then again, given how puny the dark essences he ripped from the people they captured tended to be, maybe it wouldn’t have made much of a difference.

It was seldom the sisters got their hands on a prey with a Humanity worthy of Kirk’s fair lady.

Still, they had been a constant source of Humanities when his own hunting proved scarce.

The butchers’ deaths were hindering, and Kirk would mourn their losses the same way he would have done with a broken sword or a dead horse.

At least, one of the sisters remained.

The most intelligent of the three, and the most savage.

Kirk looked at her and moved down his sword.

It hit the floor instead of her chest.

“Come.” He ordered the woman as she lay stiff as a fresh corpse on the flooded floor. “We need to prepare our attack. Otherwise, we’ll not be able to defeat those knights, specially not now that they have that pyromancer with them.”

The woman did not respond.

Concern embittered Kirk’s mouth. To see her so defeated was not natural, and if he had been a man of a gentler heart, he would have felt genuine sympathy for her.

Sadly, Kirk had forgotten all about those soft feelings long ago.

He came closer to her, and all he gave her was a kick on the shoulder with the thorny end of his boot.

The woman hissed and twitched like an injured snake as the metal spikes left three diagonal slashes on her skin. The wounds were shallow, but still they bled.

The pain snapped her out of her self-pity and grief.

She could drown in her sadness for all Kirk cared, but not now.

Right now, he needed her.

She continued to growl at Kirk from behind the rotten sack that concealed her face, her body curved and tensed like that of an angered cat.

“Do you hate me?” Kirk said, unaffected and uncaring. “I did not kill your sisters. If you must blame someone, blame the knights whose voices resonate in the distance. Listen! Do you hear them? So carefree, so full of life. Unlike your beloved family.”

The savage woman stood up with a violent swing of her legs and removed the sack from her face.

Kirk had always thought the sack concealed a face deformed by scars. Big was his surprise when his eyes met a normal woman’s face that could have been pretty in the past, before it became worn out by madness, time and cruelty.

The woman’s teeth were bared, her eyes glowed red with tears of fury. For a moment, Kirk thought she would try to bite a piece of his armor off.

In her state, he thought her capable of anything, even if it meant injuring herself in the process.

“You can try to kill me if you wish, but it will gain you nothing.” Kirk said, carefully but without letting the woman take control of the situation. “If you do, I’ll kill you first. Then, I’ll either die at the hands of those knights or at the curse the basilisks left on me. Is that what you want? For the two of us to waste our lives while the ones responsible for your sisters’ deaths walk away, free and ignorant of the sin they committed against you?”

The woman picked up her machete. Kirk could have killed her in the small second she dropped her guard to retrieve her weapon.

He didn’t, for he believed the woman was already persuaded.

There was only a way to find out.

“Come.” He said again, turning his back on the woman and walking towards the nearest tunnel. “We’ve got no time to waste. Do as I tell you and vengeance will be yours. You have my word.”

He kept walking, keeping his hearing sharp in case the woman decided to attack him from behind.

If she did, Kirk’s sword would pierce her heart before she was three steps away from him.

At first, he heard nothing but the endless murmur of water and the sound of his own steps.

It took a moment for the uneven and forceful steps of the woman to join his.

She kept her distance, but still she followed him.

Her loyalty was ephemeral, and it would last only as long as her thirst for revenge remained unquenched.

Kirk couldn’t ask anything more from her.

Somewhere in the sewers, the knights and the pyromancer laughed.

* * *

“Here, I forgot to give you this.”

Solaire said to Oscar after their battle with the giant rat had come to an end. The grotesque animal had been vicious and savage, but Laurentius’ fire had made a breeze out of the battle.

Other than a few scratches, the three of them had come out of it unscathed. Still, they all drank a small sip from their flasks, if only to recover their energies.

Oscar swallowed the Estus inside his mouth and put away the flask to accept Solaire’s gift.

A sunlight medal.

Oscar grabbed and put it away in the same bag where he kept the other medals. With this newest addition, he now had three in his collection.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you for accepting them.” Solaire said after a nervous chuckle. “I know they are not useful to you in any way, but—”

“They are the symbol of your covenant, aren’t they? A proof of a shared victory and of jolly cooperation among warriors.” Oscar said proudly, broadening his shoulders. “True, I am not a Warrior of Sunlight, so I have no use for these medals; but I treasure them for what they represent. For you to consider I am worthy of them is one of the greatest honors that has ever been bestowed upon me as a knight, Solaire.”

Solaire’s eyes glimmered as if Oscar was a king and he had just named him the greatest knight to have ever existed, superior even to Sir Artorias and Sir Ornstein.

Oscar couldn’t suppress a fond smile.

“Come now, don’t let it go to your head.” Oscar said, putting a hand on top of Solaire’s helmet. “Otherwise, it will get so big that it won’t fit under your heaume anymore.”

“And here I thought we were sharing a moment.” Solaire replied with feign disappointment as he gently slapped Oscar’s hand off his helmet. “I should have expected that sort of retort from you... Lautrec.”

“That was low, Solaire.”

“Oh dear... I didn’t mean it!”

Solaire had already spread his arms and was ready to embrace Oscar when he stopped him by putting a hand on his chest, claiming he knew it all had been a joke.

_Such a pure heart._

Oscar thought as Solaire held him for a few seconds after he had insisted that comparing him to Lautrec, even in jest, had indeed been too much.

Oscar patted Solaire’s back and chuckled soundlessly.

_Never change, my friend._

“A-ah, yes. The Astoran costume of hugging each other.” Laurentius’ comment came as soon as Solaire and Oscar broke apart. “W-warrior pyromancers always talked about it, of how Astoran knights and soldiers embraced their comrades after battle. S-some thought it was a ridiculous costume, but most of us thought it would be a good way to build trust. We tried to adopt it back at Great Swamp, but let’s just say that the results of constant physical contact among pyromancers can be a little chaotic.”

“Laurentius, if you want one too, all you had to do is ask.” Solaire claimed. “Come here.”

“Solaire, don’t pressure him—" Oscar said under his breath after noticing Laurentius’ embarrassment, but much to his surprise, the pyromancer quickly freed himself of his shame and went to Solaire’s arms.

“It feels nice.” Laurentius sighed with a wide smile. “I-I don’t think anyone has willingly me embraced ever since I accidentally burned my mother’s arms when I was a child. The injuries weren’t too serious but... well, I guess one’s reputation never fades.”

Oscar didn’t know whether to feel sorry for Laurentius or concerned for Solaire’s safety. It was a relief to see them come apart without any accidental burns occurring in the process.

“None of that matters anymore, remember? We are in Lordran.” Solaire said to Laurentius. “Our pasts made us who we are, but they don’t have to define who we’ll be here.”

Laurentius stayed still.

His gaze went from Solaire to Oscar.

Oscar nodded him in reassurance, even when his own heart remained hesitant about how big of a role his own past still played in his present.

_If only things were truly so simple._

Maybe, Oscar thought, they were.

It was him who made it difficult.

“Still, it doesn’t mean we are supposed to forget all about our pasts if we don’t want to.” Solaire continued. He made a brief pause and looked at Oscar. “Holding on to it requires great strength. If there’s comfort to be found in the past, then it shouldn’t be ignored. It should be embraced. I can’t say I follow this ideology, but I understand it.”

Oscar nodded slowly in agreement. He thought of lifting his visor so that Solaire could see the true effect his words had had one him, but he didn’t.

It wasn’t necessary.

Solaire already knew.

Oscar was sure of it.

“I-I agree.” Laurentius said. He did not elaborate on his reply.

Oscar wondered if Laurentius was aware of how personal Solaire’s comment had been for him, and if it was for this reason that the pyromancer had decided to add as little as possible to it.

If this was the case, then Oscar was grateful to Laurentius for his mindfulness.

It was a gentle gesture.

Oscar would not forget it.

After a few more minutes of rest, the three men continued their journey across the morbid sewers.

They were not a peaceful place. As if the butchers and the slimes hadn’t left that clear, the endless progeny of the giant rat were there to brand that message into their minds.

The critters, though weak on their own, became a real threat in great numbers. For every little rat they killed, three the size of a wolf jumped at them from behind the heaps of dung and waste that grew from the floor like stalagmites.

Yellow fangs had torn apart Solaire’s and Oscar’s chainmails there were the rats managed to bite them.

Insignificant wounds, or so Oscar had thought.

He did not become aware of how serious his injuries were until he felt nauseous and exhausted by the hazardous build-up in his veins, right after fighting a pack of rats strengthened by a wizard’s magic.

Oscar and Solaire had encountered similar sorcerers back at the Undead church. They were clad in strange armor, with tall helmets that gave them the appearance of having three pair of eyes. While weak by themselves, the power they granted to the other dangerous creatures around them made them a real threat.

Oscar had killed the wizard first, but his magic had remained inside the rats even after his death. One of them had left a nasty bite on his forearm.

With it, the seriousness of his poisoning finally became exposed to Oscar.

It took him by surprise and at full force, like a giant metal arrow. He felt drained of all his strength, as if he was trapped in a vortex of exhaustion that deprived him of his balance.

He tried to heal it with Estus, but the elixir did nothing to cure him of the disease the rats had infected him with.

The poisoning grew within him with every passing second.

His body itched and hurt, as if he was being devoured from the inside by starving maggots.

_Solaire._

Oscar looked at his friend.

Time stopped for him when he noticed how Solaire struggled to stand on his feet, his nails firmly dug on the wall. When he noticed his stare, Solaire immediately straightened his back and removed his helmet.

“Just a scratch.” Solaire said to Oscar with a sunny smile, trying to hide with a hand a bleeding bite on his belly. He got his Estus flask close to his lips. “I’ll be fine in the blink of an eye.”

“Solaire?” Laurentius intervened, his unhooded face bearing a deep frown.

“A little sip and I’ll be as good as new.” Solaire continued, feigning to be well. After swallowing the Estus, he stood tall. “See? I told you. Now calm down, you two. Solaire of Astora is still far from being—”

He collapsed on his knees. The flask escaped from his fingers and it would have shattered had it not fallen on the soft corpse of a rat.

“Solaire!” Laurentius rushed to him.

Oscar did the same. He had opened his mouth to call for his injured friend, but weakness had silenced his voice.

He spent what little strength he had left on kneeling next to Solaire. 

Solaire, struggling to catch his breath and with a heavy nosebleed leaking down to his chin, looked at Oscar with mournful eyes.

“You too?”

Oscar, with his helmet removed, could only nod with a hopeless smile. He put his arm around Solaire’s shoulders and rested his forehead against his.

“Rats.” Solaire spat with humorless amusement. “We have defeated demons, gargoyles, Hollows... all to be defeated by some rats.”

Oscar laughed under his breath with his eyes closed without letting go of Solaire.

“We were careless.” Solaire lamented as he too surrounded Oscar with an arm. “Oscar, this is not our end. We’ll be reborn from the bonfire and we’ll continue our journey. Do you understand?”

The last word came out distorted by fear.

Oscar nodded in agreement. He too was consumed by dread and dismay.

Not of his own death, but of the possibility that Solaire would not be reborn from the bonfire again. It was a childish, unjustified fear, but still he felt it in all its power

Solaire was not tainted by the Hollowing and his Humanity was strong. He had a purpose in life in the form of the search for his sun.

There was no reason for him to not come back.

And yet, Oscar worried.

_Humanity._

Oscar tried to reach the dark essence he kept guarded inside his bag, but his arm did not respond to his commands. He forced it to move, but it did so slowly that Solaire would die before he managed to infuse him with the Humanity.

If he was to be practical, if he was to think again like the man he had once been, Oscar knew he should use the Humanity on himself. Unlike Solaire, he was half-Hollow, and though the Humanity inside him was strong and plentiful, it was him who had more chances of not coming back completely sane from another death.

Or of not coming back at all.

_I will._

Oscar braced himself and opened his eyes.

_I have a reason to live. The prophecy and you. I cannot leave you alone, not when there’s still so much I want to teach you... so much we can share. I don’t want to lose this strange happiness I’ve managed to find in this Undead life._

“O-oh, thank Lord Gwyn!” Laurentius exclaimed, his voice high with a mixture of relief and anguish. “I knew I still had some of it left! Q-quickly! E-e-eat this!”

Brusquely, he separated Oscar and Solaire and stuffed their mouths with moss before they could comprehend what was happening.

The taste was sickening, and Oscar unwillingly rejected it with a loud gag, but Laurentius covered his mouth forcefully, almost as if he wanted to break his jaw.

He held Oscar with one hand and Solaire with the other, and he did not let go of them until each had swallowed the cure.

Oscar had a coughing fit that left his ribs hurting as if he had been kicked by a horse. Solaire fared no better, his eyes filled with reflexive tears and his coughing grew hoarse and violent.

“Easy.” Laurentius muttered softly. He stayed by their sides, offering them all the support he could.

“I—” Solaire tried to talk, but his words were cut short by Laurentius’ soft hushing.

“J-just breathe.” He said quietly, not only to Solaire but also to Oscar, who had been about to speak. “Breathe.”

They spent a long while with nothing but the whispers of the air they exhaled filling the silence.

Slowly, Oscar felt his body return to normal, free of the painful itchiness and hindering dizziness that had deprived him of all his strength.

He slammed his back against a wall of black stone, confused and exhausted. Solaire did the same.

“My friends.” Laurentius dropped to the floor and fell on his behind. He was paler than either of them. “I thought you were going to— No, no! N-none of that. You didn’t. You are alive!”

Laurentius covered his face with one hand and shivered as if he was high with fever. “I’m so glad.”

Solaire cleaned the drying blood on his nose and chin with his tunic before resting a hand on top of Laurentius’ head. “All because of you. You saved our lives.”

Laurentius uncovered his face. He was red with contained emotion, and had Oscar not been so grateful to the pyromancer, he would have worried about him setting Solaire on fire by accident.

“I-I am sorry I took so long.” Laurentius said with a stutter so pronounced that his teeth chattered. “My arms, they wouldn’t stop shaking and—"

“Laurentius.” Solaire interrupted him with so much kindness that Laurentius seemed more comforted by it than offended. “Thank you.”

Solaire removed his hand from the pyromancer’s head and offered it to him.

In silence, Laurentius wrapped his fingers around Solaire’s wristband. Solaire reciprocated in the same manner, his long fingers completely engulfing Laurentius’s slender wrist.

Oscar, still not free from the shock of how close he had been to dying, was shaken to the core when Laurentius spread his other hand to him as well.

Oscar accepted the gesture and did just as Solaire had done.

“I-I know it is too soon for you to think of me as a friend.” Laurentius said, his fingers so warm that Oscar could feel them even through his gauntlet. “But... I am grateful you’ve given me the chance to stay with you. We pyromancers are seldom trusted so easily, and I—”

“You needn’t be grateful, Laurentius.” Oscar said, tightening his grip on the other man’s wrist. “And don’t be too sure about us not considering you our friend already. We are Astorans, remember?”

“We have this disturbing tendency to promptly get attached to others.” Solaire added, earning to himself a puzzled look from Laurentius and Oscar. With an apologetic smirk, he said, “That’s what the crestfallen once told me.”

“That’s not how I would have worded it.” Oscar said. After considering it, he shrugged, “but I guess it’s true.”

“So you two just like me because of your Astoran nature?” Laurentius inquired, pretending to be hurt.

“Of course not!” Oscar said as Solaire laughed. “We just like you because of your fire abilities.”

This time, he laughed, but neither Solaire nor Laurentius joined him.

Laurentius looked at him, his eyes misty with a broken heart, while Solaire stared at Oscar with his mouth agape and a frown, as if he had just insulted Laurentius’ mother in the worst way imaginable.

“That was a joke.” Oscar added clumsily, and much to his relief, Laurentius sighed and his expression relaxed, and so did Solaire.

_Well, I thought it was funny. Lautrec would have thought so too._

Oscar thought as Laurentius helped him and Solaire back on their feet.

... _Maybe that’s all the proof I need to know that it wasn’t funny at all._

“C-come on, let’s continue. More rats could arrive if we stay in one place for too long.” Laurentius said. “T-that could be problematic. Now that we’ve seen how dangerous their bites truly are, we can’t allow ourselves to fight them so carelessly anymore.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Oscar said, putting his helmet back on and carefully pondering on the situation. He looked at Solaire, once again wearing his heaume, before he continued. “We let our guard down. We underestimated our enemy, and it almost costed us our lives. It was a grave mistake, but now we know how truly dangerous this place is.”

Oscar partially unsheathed his sword and stared at the dirty blade before returning it to its sheath.

“I believe stealth would be our best choice from now on when it comes dealing with those rats. Fighting them should be our last option, and if we must do it, then we should proceed with caution. Laurentius, do you think you can deal with the rats we may come across with your fire? That way, we can get rid of them at a long distance.”

“S-sure!” Laurentius nodded with enthusiasm, his hands coated with fire. “Leave them to me.”

“But then what will we do?” Solaire intervened without hiding his concern. “Laurentius already deals with those slimes, Oscar. If we leave the rats to him as well, then he’ll be the only one fighting. We can’t abuse of his powers that way!”

“I know.” Oscar said patiently. He understood very well what Solaire was feeling, for he felt the same way. “That’s why we must be sure to be as stealthy as possible. I’m not saying we won’t fight if the situation arises, Solaire. If we happen to become overwhelmed and Laurentius is in danger, we’ll fight, no matter the cost. We just need to be more careful and avoid needless conflict, unless until we find a way to deal with the poisoning.”

“I see.” Solaire folded his arms. “You are right. We are sorry, Laurentius. As knights, it shames us to burden you with our protection, but...”

“H-have a little faith in me, Solaire.” Laurentius straightened his back. It was the first time Oscar realized he was almost as tall as him and Solaire. “I-I will protect the two of you with my life.”

It was a well-intentioned but poor choice of words, and though Solaire did not show it, Oscar knew how distressed and uncomfortable he was by the mere thought of putting Laurentius in danger for his sake.

It wasn’t that Oscar did not share his guilt, but he kept it at bay, knowing well it was the best choice they had.

Unless—

“Do you have more of that purple moss with you?” he asked Laurentius. “If you do, then Solaire and I can fight by your side.”

Laurentius shook his head, cutting Oscar’s hope short. “I’m sorry, but those clumps I fed you were my last ones. I did have more, but the butchers stole them from me and eat them as snacks on our way to this place, right after they captured me.”

“Then, you didn’t eat some of it?” Solaire took a step closer to Laurentius. “Are you still poisoned?”

Oscar had not thought of that possibility, but now that Solaire had brought it up, it lingered on his mind like a dark sun.

“D-don’t worry. The rats did not bite me.”

“Laurentius—” Oscar said.

“Y-you two worry too much.” Laurentius dismissed them and took a step back. More than angry, he smiled at them over his shoulder and began to walk the entrance of a new sewer. He moved his arm forward. “T-this way! Don’t fall too far behind.”

Oscar and Solaire remained still where they stood. They both moved and went after Laurentius at the same time.

They kept their hands on the hilt of their swords, their eyes and ears fully devoted to their mission of alerting each other of any potential threat that could pass unnoticed by Laurentius.

Oscar did not repeat his same mistake and kept an ever-vigilant eye on the roof, in case some of the slimes remain hidden there.

But he couldn’t stop his heart from betraying him, and from time to time, he looked at Laurentius too.

“Oscar.” Solaire said very softly under his breath. It was only thanks to the quietude of the sewers that Oscar managed to hear him. “I don’t want him to die, not because of my stupid carelessness.”

Oscar wanted to tell him how he had not been alone in that mistake, and of how much he too was responsible for what had happened.

He held his tongue. That wasn’t what troubled Solaire’s soul.

“We’ll make sure he survives this horrid place.” Oscar replied with confidence. “And, if at any moment we see he can’t go on, we’ll take him back to Firelink Shrine. The fire keeper may be able to cure him from his poisoning. And if she can’t, then I’m sure the merchants at the burg and in the water tunnel could sell to us some of that purple moss. Whatever happens, I promise you I’ll do my best to make sure he survives, Solaire.”

“I should have bought some of it back at the burg.” Solaire said bitterly. “If I had bought better supplies, none of this would be happening. I was a fool.”

There was truth in his statement, Oscar thought, but also underserved harshness. And again, he felt just as responsible of that mistake as Solaire.

He had not gone to the merchant himself, and even if he had, the idea of buying a cure for poisoning would not have crossed Oscar’s mind. The enemies they had defeated so far had not relied on such dirty tricks, and so Oscar had ignored and forgotten about the potential dangers of venom and poison.

Like he had said before, it had been a grave mistake both he and Solaire had made.

“We’ll do better next time. And the mistakes we committed before will not happen again.” Oscar said, slightly touching Solaire’s hand with the back of his gauntlet. “Focus, Solaire. Things will turn out fine.”

“Since when you are so optimistic?” Solaire said, his mood still somber but slightly less disheartened. “Who are you and what did you to my friend Oscar?”

The jest was welcomed by them both. Though neither had the enthusiasm or motivation to truly laugh, they still managed to let out a soft chuckle.

“I was scared I would see you die.” Solaire confessed.

The statement was like a stab to Oscar’s heart.

“So was I.” He admitted without shame. “But we are still here. That’s all that matters... and even if I had died, I would have come back to life, Solaire. Hollow as I am, and as lost as my heart feels, I’ll always come back to you, I promise. If I don’t, then who else will teach you how to parry? Laurentius? I don’t think so.”

Solaire snorted, but when he spoke next, he did so with a solemn, serious voice.

“I promise too, Oscar.”

He grabbed Oscar’s hand and gave it a gentle, swift squeeze before returning it to the hilt of his sword.

Oscar, with his soul finally at ease again after his poisoning, did the same.

Fortune and fate, fickle and treacherous as they tended to be against mortals, smiled at them. The sewers they walked were free of enemies, and thought they could hear the distant echoes of squeaking shrieks in the distance, no rat stood on their way.

Their luck, however, was short-lived; it came to an end when the human cries of despair and fear shattered the illusion of peace that Oscar, Solaire and Laurentius had thought to be true.

“A woman.” Solaire said in distress, unsheathing his sword without a second thought. “She’s in danger. We must save her!”

Oscar agreed, his sword already free of its sheath, ready to fight for the woman’s sake.

Laurentius turned around, his feet splashing dozens of drops of dirty water. “Wait! It could have been something else. Maybe a rat’s squeaking that became distorted and—”

The cries of the woman filled the sewers again, her voice travelling through the dirty air with a grief and sadness that silenced Laurentius.

“It came from over there.” Oscar pointed with his head to a hole in the floor. The sewers were filled with them, as if they were traps purposefully left there to break the legs of unsuspecting travelers.

Solaire had almost fallen through one when they had first started exploring the sewers in the company of Laurentius. Oscar had prevented his fall in the last second.

Since then, they had kept a watchful eye on the floor.

But now, they were forced to throw themselves willingly into danger, onwards to the unknown places where hole would take them.

They had no choice.

They were knights, and to leave a woman in danger to fend for herself was among the most despicable acts they could commit.

Oscar picked up a pebble from the floor and let it drop into the hole. He listened to the impact and then looked at Solaire.

“The fall is long, but not lethal if we land correctly on our feet.”

Solaire nodded and knelt next to the hole. “I’ll go first. Are you two ready? We have no time to lose.”

Oscar answered without a trace of fear or doubt, his mind and body already prepared to begin the rescue.

“L-let’s leave her.” 

Despite his stuttering, Laurentius’ words rang strong.

“What?” Solaire exclaimed, and Oscar did not know if his voice trembled with disbelief or anger.

“It’s t-too dangerous, and we don’t know what could be expecting for us down there.” The effort Laurentius was making to remain firm in his decision was evident, almost pathetically so, but also unyielding. “We can’t help her.”

“We must help her.” Solaire sprang up to his feet. “We are knights!”

Oscar put himself between him and Laurentius, afraid that Solaire would try to hurt the pyromancer.

He didn’t, but still Oscar remained between them.

“Y- you are knights.” Laurentius said without energy, ashamed of his cowardice but still clinging to it. “I am not.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Solaire shouted, leaving the ears of his friends ringing. “As a man, as a human, how can you say such things? How can you see someone suffer and leave them to die?”

“I don’t.” Laurentius’ temper, ignited and burning fiercely like the fire he controlled, took Oscar by surprise.

He changed his position and faced the pyromancer, now decided to protect Solaire from him if he tried anything.

“I saved you, didn’t I?” Laurentius exclaimed. “And I don’t regret it! I would do it again; I would save you a thousand times if I had to! You rescued me, you helped me. You two are my friends... or at least, the closest thing to it that I’ve had in my life.”

Laurentius swallowed hard and unhooded his face, revealing a sad look in his eyes that left Oscar feeling as if he had been struck in the wound on his belly, right where the Chosen Undead had stabbed him with the coiled sword.

“You asked me to protect you.” Laurentius said, a muscle throbbing on his tense neck. “And I said I would. This is why I must say this! Oscar, Solaire, leave that woman to her fate. Hate me for my cowardice if you must, but please, don’t go through with this plan of yours.”

“Laurentius.”

“Do not risk your lives.” Laurentius pleaded. “Not when I am responsible of them. Not when I can’t follow you.”

The short pause that followed, one where Oscar felt a thousand things had to be said, was snatched from them by the woman’s screams.

“I’m sorry, Laurentius.” Solaire spoke from behind Oscar’s back. Oscar heard the scratching noise of Solaire’s feet against the floor as he prepared himself. “But we have to.”

With that, he jumped. The slamming echo of his landing came after a moment of cold silence only filled by Laurentius’ heavy breathing.

“Oscar.” Laurentius grabbed him by the arm just as Oscar had turned his back on him to follow Solaire. “Please.”

“Wait for us at the bonfire.” Oscar said as he moved Laurentius’ hand away from him. “We’ll come back once we ‘ve rescued the woman, Laurentius. I promise.”

“You can’t promise me that.” Laurentius took a step back away from him, shaking with frustration and impotence.

“I’m sorry, but there’s little more I can say.” With a heavy heart, Oscar gave one more glance to the pyromancer before turning his sight to the hole on the floor. “Be safe, my friend.”

Oscar swore he heard Laurentius drawing breath, like a soft gasp escaping his chest, but he jumped before he had time to listen to whatever the pyromancer had to say.

If he truly had anything left to tell him at all.

* * *

He was a coward.

He had always been, but never had it shamed him like it did then.

_My friends._

Laurentius knelt next to the hole that had swallowed Solaire and Oscar. It was like staring at an endless abyss, but somewhere amidst it, he could hear their distant voices and steps.

They were safe.

At least for now.

Laurentius found relief in that, but it also made his cowardice a heavier burden to bear.

He should be there with them, offering them whatever help his fire could offer.

And that woman, that poor soul that remained trapped in that hellish place, alone and defenseless as he had been before Oscar and Solaire had rescued him... didn’t she too deserve his bravery and help?

“I’m a worthless coward.” Laurentius muttered, as if he was afraid that even the wind would disdain him for his confession.

He looked down, his shaking hands slowly resting on the edge of the hole on the floor.

_But... perhaps, even a coward like me could—_

A dark and merciless hand covered his mouth and nose just as Laurentius had dared to consider the idea of going after Oscar and Solaire.

He was pulled back to the stranger’s chest in a ruthless embrace. Dozens of spikes pieced his clothes, his skin and the muscles of his back. Some of them reached his lungs and backbone, clashing against his vertebrae and blinding him with a pain like Laurentius had never experienced before.

The screamed that exploded on his chest remained trapped inside his throat, the hand of the stranger preventing its escape to the outer world.

“You should be grateful.” The stranger whispered to Laurentius on his ear as the spikes of his helmet pierced his scalp and soaked his hair with blood. “She would not have given you a death so swift and painless.”

The stranger’s hand twisted Laurentius’ neck with a single, sudden swing.

Laurentius thought of the Astorans that had saved them one last time before he sunk into the inky darkness of death with a snap of his neck he did not manage to hear.

* * *

It all happened in a matter of a few seconds.

Kirk had not expected the pyromancer to stay behind, but he was glad he had done so. In such closed spaces like those sewers, his fire would have been a bigger menace than the knights’ swords.

He would have died first even if he had followed his comrades down the hole. Kirk would have made sure of it. He had ordered the woman to attack the pyromancer first, but he knew she would not follow his instructions.

She was too blinded by her grief. All her rage would be unleashed on the knights.

_With you out of the way, I guess she can do as she wishes now._

Kirk thought as he held the pyromancer’s corpse close to make sure he'd truly had died. He thought he’d heard his neck snap, but he had to make sure.

The least he needed was to be attacked by surprise by one of the pyromancer's fire attacks.

Holding the corpse close to him soon became uncomfortable.

It was warm, unnaturally so, almost as if—

Flames engulfed the dead body.

Kirk’s armor heated up like a blacksmith’s oven at the mere contact.

He let go of corpse and jumped back. Without thinking, he rolled around the dirty water that filled the floor.

Steam emanated from him as if he was a burning coal. He removed his helmet and thought of doing the same with the rest of his amor; instead, he endure the pain and swallowed his screams as he allowed the water to cool down the metal of his trusted protection.

His skin felt charred and flayed, and an awful stench come from inside his armor.

The smell of his own seared flesh and hair.

“You tricky bastard.” Kirk said almost with respect as he took out his Estus flask and drank from it until leaving it half-empty.

He stared at the pyromancer's burning corpse as it became ashes and started to fade away.

“You did well... for a swamp rat.”

He waited for the Estus to heal his injuries as much as possible before getting back on his feet. He took a handful of the pyromancer’s ashes as they floated around him like specks of dust.

_But it wasn’t enough._

He released them and put his helmet back on.

_Come back to life, if you can._

Amidst the fading fire, a Humanity remained.

Kirk picked up his reward and smiled triumphally.

_But this is mine. Well, not exactly. All I do, I do it for—_

* * *

_My lady?_

Lautrec called for his goddess, but her silence was unbreakable.

It was a shame his heart was not.

With a hopeless spirit and a burning anger, he carried on.

He was already at the slums.

He noticed a crimson stain on the floor.

The mark of his own blood, right on the spot where he should have died.

_You shouldn't have gotten hurt in the first place. You failed the moment you allowed a Vinheimer to defeat you. You are a worthless knight, a pathetic excuse for a man. What lady would want to be in the company of someone like you? Why would a goddess—_

Lautrec slammed his foot on the bloodstain of his failure and continued walking.

_Watch me, Fina._

He asked her lady, even if she ignored his words.

_Just watch._


	33. My friend, do not forget our promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to Mrs Littletall and Shady_Elf for the comments!
> 
> Well, here it is,the Angst I promised a few chapter ago. I really hope you enjoy the chapter... despite the tears.

The door to the depths was open. Lautrec stepped inside, unaffected by the darkness and thick stench that engulfed him.

The deeper he ventured inside, the more he discovered evidences of violence.

The rotten blood ,proper of Hollows, was splatted all over the floor and walls.

It was undoubtedly the work of Oscar and Solaire.

But there was something else, something darker.

Lautrec gazed at the dismembered and flayed bodies scattered around the kitchen’s floor. The grotesque sight awakened his disgust and curiosity.

Who would willingly consume human flesh when it was said to be the nastiest tasting of meats?

And that was when it came to living human beings. If the meat came from an Undead, or worse, a Hollow, Lautrec could only imagine how inhumanly repulsive the flavor was.

Who had done this, and why?

Undeads had no real need to eat.

They could do so if they wished to, and it was not uncommon for them to long for the dishes they had liked the most in life, but they did not experience hunger, and it was seldom they went through the trouble of gathering the ingredients and cooking them when eating granted them no energy, sustain or a boost to their strength.

Whoever was responsible for such butchery had a greater motive than mere hunger.

Lautrec lost interest.

He cared not about it.

His only concern regarding the culprit was if he was still alive, perhaps lurking nearby like a starving predator eager to feast on his flesh.

Lautrec wielded his swords in case the lunatic tried anything. Carefully, he kept walking.

Despite the dangerous and threating atmosphere of the depths, Lautrec found no enemy in his way, not the butcher or any Hollows.

The Astorans had left nothing left for him to kill.

_You shouldn’t have bothered. I could have dealt with them by myself._

Lautrec thought, disappointed at his lack of amusement.

_That’s fine. When I find you, I’ll make sure you offer me the entertainment a knight of Carim deserves._

He smiled, his heart racing with excitement at the prospect of bloodshed and his revenge for his lost pride.

With a fierce spirit, he moved forward, leaving nothing behind him but the splashing echo of his steps.

_Then you’ll come back to me. Right, Fina?_

His only answer was a distant scream that froze his blood and paralyzed him where he stood.

* * *

The sight of the woman curled up in a corner filled Solaire with sorrow and anger. She was barely dressed and had signs of violence scattered all over her body, the most evident being the cuts on her blood-soaked shoulder.

As soon as he and Oscar got her out of that hellish place, Solaire would hunt down the savage responsible for such vileness.

He would kill him.

Vengeance was not the way of the Warriors of Sunlight, but to Solaire, the killing would be a matter of justice, as it would prevent the same disgrace to befall another soul.

_Reah._

The name of the young cleric resonated on the back of his mind. He wondered in anguish if she had suffered a similar fate at the hands of Petrus.

The image of the injured woman before him made that possibility feel all the more real.

Guilt took over him.

They should have never allowed her to depart in the company of that two-faced bastard, and though Solaire trusted that her bodyguards Nico and Vince were keeping her same from harm, he still worried about her sake.

Reah had not wanted their assistance, and she had openly rejected them after Oscar’s deceit had come to light. The disdain and disgust she had showed to Oscar had made Solaire dislike her with all his heart, but if she was in need of help, he would not let his personal feelings get in the way.

He would save her.

Solaire would propose the idea to rescue her to Oscar. They would have to pause their journey through the depths and their search for the second bell of Awakening and go after Reah instead.

It was not a decision they could make easily, and Solaire hoped it wouldn’t lead to a new disagreement between himself and Oscar.

Solaire would agree to any consensus they reached together, but deep down, he hoped Oscar would agree with him.

Though there was a possibility that he didn’t, there was also a high chance that he did.

Oscar was not a cruel man, and he had inside him a selflessness that Solaire believed could shine brighter than anyone else’s if given the chance.

Reah’s fate was an important matter, but one that would have to wait.

At that moment, the woman before him required all his attention, kindness, and strength.

“It’s alright.” Solaire whispered to the woman so she could become completely aware of his and Oscar’s presence.

The woman, whose head had been glued to her chest and hidden behind her arms, looked up with a pronounced shivering traveling through her body.

There was an emptiness in her eyes that Solaire knew too well. He had seen it many times before on the faces of people whose lives were plagued by hopelessness.

It was not an uncommon sight during times of war and conflict between nations.

And it was too common for nations to be in conflict with each other.

But there was something else in her eyes.

Something that cut and pierced as deeply as hatred.

“You are safe now.” Solaire mellowed his voice. He felt Oscar standing right behind him, immersed in the absolute silence he tended to adopt when in the presence of strangers.

He did not speak a word, and for once, Solaire felt relieved that he didn’t. The woman would not react kindly to his Hollowed voice.

Solaire thanked his friend in silence for his caution.

“Are you—” Solaire could not finish, for the woman growled at him as if she was a rabid dog. Drool dripped from her chin, and she clawed at her own arms and made herself bleed.

It was as if she couldn’t contain herself, as if all the rage and fear storming within her demanded an immediate outlet.

More than a woman, she looked like a feral beast.

A lump formed in Solaire’s throat.

He cursed the man or men that had put her through so much pain and had shattered her mind and spirit in the process.

Oscar’s hand held Solaire by the shoulder. He could feel Oscar’s tension through his grip.

Solaire eased his friend’s worries by putting a hand on top of his. Slowly, Oscar retreated his hand, but before he did, he whispered the softest ‘ _be careful’_ to Solaire.

“We are not going to hurt you.” Solaire said to the woman. To prove his point, he unsheathed his sword and put it down on the floor.

He heard the clinking of Oscar’s armor as he moved in clear disapproval of his action, but Solaire ignored him. He appreciated his friend’s concern for him, but he couldn’t allow it to distract him.

He needed to earn the woman’s trust.

Solaire knew her soul was too scarred for her to trust him or Oscar completely. For all he knew, she hated them as much as she hated the men that had hurt her.

_I understand. I know there is little I can do to erase what’s happened here, but let me help you. Please._

“I’m going to take one step closer to you now.” Solaire announced, and before he acted on it, he took off his helmet.

“Solaire.” Oscar gasped, his voice loud enough to be heard by the woman. Solaire feared she would panic, but either she did not hear it, or she was in too much shock to react correctly to it.

Instead, she continued to stare at them with a hateful glare in her eyes.

“Don’t worry.” Solaire turned around and handed his helmet to Oscar. With a smile, he added, “Everything will be fine, for all of us.”

Oscar accepted his helmet. Solaire returned his attention to the woman as soon as his heaume was safely guarded by his friend.

The first step he took towards her was the hardest. Her breathing became heavy and hoarse, as if her lungs were damaged and she couldn’t hold air inside her for too long.

Solaire took a moment in between each step so that she wouldn’t feel endangered by his approach. He kept muttering words of comfort and promises of safety to her.

Once he reached her, he immediately knelt in front of her so that his imposing height wouldn’t upset her. The woman held her breath and her face became as stiff as stone once Solaire was at her same level.

Silent tears that did not disturb her features streamed down her eyes.

“You are safe now.” Solaire spread his arms. He did so to show the woman that he meant no harm, and he was shocked when she threw herself against his chest.

The impact of her body was forceful and unexpected. It stole some of the breath inside him and almost pushed him down to the floor, but Solaire managed to keep his balance.

Oscar took a couple of steps towards them, but he stopped once he noticed the woman had not injured Solaire, and all she was doing to him was soaking his shoulder with her tears.

She was silent, with not even a single goosebump or sob escaping her throat.

“It’s alright, my lady.” Solaire muttered, feeling his own tears about to betray him. He kept them at bay and, very slowly, he surrounded her with his arms. “We’ll get you out of here. No one will harm you. You have my word.”

The woman put her arms around him in an embrace so strong that it was close to being painful.

Though uncomfortable, Solaire did not protest and focused on keeping her calm.

He and Oscar would have to find something for her to wear so that she wouldn’t feel exposed and embarrassed. Maybe his tunic could serve as a blanket. It would keep her warm on their way back to Firelink Shrine.

Solaire did not know what exactly they would do afterwards.

He would stay by her side as long as necessary, but what if his presence disturbed the woman more than it made her feel safe?

Those were thoughts for later.

His priority was to get her to safety, to a place where she could rest and heal her wounds, at least those that could be healed by a bonfire’s warmth.

“We’re going to take you out of here.” Solaire softly told the woman. “I’ll carry you. Are you ready?”

The woman opened her mouth.

Solaire waited, but she said nothing.

“Take your time. I’ll only do it once you—”

The woman screamed in his ear. It was a cry like Solaire had never heard before, more proper of a demon than of a human being.

His hearing became a painful and buzzing deafness that disoriented him and made him feel like he was on a free fall.

The next he felt was the woman’s teeth piercing the side of his neck, ripping apart his skin and sinking deep into his muscles, allowing warm blood to spill down his tunic and chainmail.

Pain flared up in every nerve of Solaire’s body.

He tried to push the woman away, but she clung to him with her arms and legs, surrounding his neck and torso respectively. The more he struggled to shake her off, the more powerful her bite became.

Solaire tried to spring back to his feet, but the woman remained stuck to his chest like a hungry leech, anchoring him down. 

She swung her head violently from side to side.

It was with horror that Solaire realized a chunk of his muscles was ripped apart from his body, like the meat of a cooked animal.

Pain and panic gave him the strength he needed to finally stand up.

The woman was strong and resisted him, clinging to him without quarter, but it didn’t take long for Solaire to finally free himself from her wild embrace.

The woman departed from his body and crashed against the wall. She fell like a wounded bird on the floor, with the bite she had taken from Solaire’s neck still hanging from between her teeth. Her own blood started to flow from her nose and ears.

Solaire gazed at her, shaking with shock and disbelief. He would have worried about having broken her spine or skull in half had his mind not been lost to bewilderment.

Instinctively, Solaire tried to cover his wound with one hand, but it stung and hurt to the point that he screamed in agony when one of his digits slightly traced his exposed and beating muscles.

It had hurt the moment the woman had bitten him, but the pain reached its peak now that he had freed himself from her vicious attack.

“What is this?” Solaire asked to no one, his eyes fixed on the woman. Sweat covered his forehead, reflecting what little light the depths had to offer. “What is happening?”

_Oscar._

Concern numbed Solaire’s pain.

He turned around and discovered the reason of why Oscar had not helped him.

He couldn’t, not when he was being overwhelmed in battle by a warrior clad in dark armor. Solaire had not heard his arrival.

The woman’s scream deafened him still, and all he could distinguish were the muffled clashes of Oscar’s and the knight’s swords as they grappled.

Then, he saw it.

Oscar’s blood was turning the water red.

In his despair, Solaire could not identify the exact source of the bleeding, but the prospect of his friend being injured was all he needed to ignite his battle instincts.

His hand reached for his sword, but he did not find its hilt. It was in that moment of despair that Solaire remembered he had discarded his weapon on the floor.

He had no time to retrieve it.

A second after his awful realization, the woman jumped on his back again, her teeth still anxious to tear apart his neck piece by piece.

Her fingers clawed his face and tunic, tearing to shreds the sun painted on Solaire’s chest.

* * *

The woman had performed her role admirably, and she had proved to be a most competent fighting partner during the small time she and Kirk had traveled together across the sewers, once their plan of attack had been established.

She disposed of Hollows and any other enemy that crossed their way without elegance, her battle style dominated by a violent frenzy devoid of mercy and care, not even for herself. The swings of her machete were chaotic, almost random, and it was not rare for it to harm its own wielder.

During their battle against the basilisks, Kirk had almost kissed goodbye to his hand when the woman’s machete descended against his opponent without warning.

Kirk had confronted her about it once the battle had come to an end, but the woman had paid him no mind; instead, she had causally continued to lick her self-inflected wounds.

The sight had cured Kirk of his anger and replaced it with astonishment.

The woman showed no pain at the cuts that filled her body, caused by her own madness. Despite all the times Kirk had dealt with her in the past, he had never noticed this brutal detail about her before.

In a moment of weakness, Kirk had tried to grab her arm and pour some Estus on her wounds, but the woman had jolted away from his touch, as if his hand was made of lava.

It had been the first and last time he had tried to help her. From then on, Kirk had focused only on their killing of basilisks, and he had kept as much distance as possible from the woman during their next battles.

Once they had disposed of those nightmarish monsters, Kirk had ordered the woman to proceed with the next part of their plan.

“The pyromancer.” Kirk had told her, just in case her deranged mind had already forgotten. “Kill him first. Keep those savage instincts of yours at bay. I know you want to make the knights suffer for what they did, but if you don’t dispose of the pyromancer as soon as possible, things could go badly for us. He could also see through our lie; and if he doesn’t, then the knights could. If that happens, you’ll get killed... or worse, for who knows what those men might try to do to you.”

_Maybe the same thing they did to your sisters._

The idea of telling this last statement to the woman had flashed before Kirk’s mind, but he had decided against it, fearing it would drive the woman to a frenzy he wouldn’t be able to control.

Deep down, he worried he had already set her on such path.

He regretted having told her that lie in the first place.

He had done so to make her join his cause, but he was starting to think he had also rendered her unable to resist her thirst for vengeance and knightly blood.

Kirk could only hope she would listen to him and do as he had told her.

It was most likely she would die in the process, but it was a sacrifice both she and Kirk were willing to accept.

“Act like defenseless maiden. Make them think you are harmless; if you do it right, you’ll have them under your spell, especially the pyromancer and that Warrior of Sunlight.”

The woman had listened to Kirk with a gruntled and offended scowl on her face. He had noticed how much she hated the idea, and he also wondered if she knew he was not being completely honest with her.

The two knights and the pyromancer could be decent people, but Kirk didn’t know if they were truly pure of heart.

He couldn’t promise the woman they wouldn’t try to commit heinous acts against her.

Lordran often brought the worst out of people’s hearts.

“If the Warrior of Sunlight approaches you first, then kill him instead. I’ll come to your aid as soon as you kill either of these two, and together we’ll get rid of the rest while they remain stunned by their shock.”

Kirk would have preferred for her to dispose of the pyromancer first, but if she couldn’t, then the Warrior of the sun was a good alternative.

“Kill them. Don’t try to do anything else. If you don’t succeed, if in your madness you fail and you become overwhelmed by them, I will not interfere. I will leave you behind and let them do to you whatever they want. Do you understand?”

His answer came to him in the form of a machete being thrown at him.

Kirk dodged it. He would have repelled it with his shield had his arm not been limp and stiff by the basilisks’ curse.

It still could carry his shield, but other than that, it was completely useless.

“Don’t be a fool and do as we agreed.” Kirk had said, throwing the machete back at the woman.

The weapon had landed right in front of her naked feet, but she made no effort to pick it up. He had growled and spat at him before she finally retrieved her weapon and went to the spot where the knights and the pyromancer would find her.

Kirk had gone to hide nearby, his mind full of doubts of how misplaced his trust on the woman had been, and if she would be capable of fulfilling her role.

To his surprise, she had.

After killing the pyromancer and taking his Humanity, Kirk had listened to the scene unfolding at the deep end of the hole.

Luckily for him, and especially for the woman, the knights had turned out to be righteous; at least, the Warrior of Sunlight had.

The other knight had remained immersed in absolute silence, so Kirk had no way to know what his true intentions were.

If he tried to do something to the woman, it wouldn’t matter, for as soon as the naïve Warrior of Sunlight had perished, Kirk would make sure the knight promptly followed his friend into death.

Everything had gone much better than he had expected, to the point where Kirk had felt remorseful for having been so distrustful of the woman.

Savage as she was, she was not a mindless animal.

Kirk had just begun to hold her in high regard when she broke his expectations and hopes with a hellish scream.

Kirk had no time to register his surprise, his mind already full of dozens of horrible possibilities of what had gone wrong.

Without thinking it twice, he stood up and jumped down the hole.

_I should have fulfilled me promise. I should have left you to your fate._

Kirk thought as he fell down the hole.

_But I can’t— Don’t kid yourself; I am not doing this for you, savage lunatic. You can go Hollow for all I care. But my fair lady is in dire need of fresh and powerful Humanities. I have already wasted too much time in this place... I cannot run away now like a scared dog with my tail between my legs and return to her empty-handed. I must stay here and fight, no matter the cost._

Kirk drew out his sword as soon as he realized that, if he aimed well, he could stab the silent knight from above.

It would be a swift, painless death.

_Well, what do you know. It seems victory is not as out of reach as I thought. And who knows, if you are not dead already, I may decide to save you too, woman. Then again, I could also take your Humanity along with these knights’. We’ll see about that... but first, this man dies._

His landing came, but not how Kirk had planned it.

His sword crashed not against the knight’s body, but against the stony and wet floor. Kirk realized the knight had jumped out of his way seconds before the impact.

The force of his landing made his body scream.

He’d managed to change his position and damp some of the force of the impact, but his legs and arms still suffered from the sudden change of surfaces. His entire body and armor clanked when the pressure of his fall abruptly fell on his shoulders.

His legs, not broken only because of a miracle, did not respond when Kirk tried to stand up. They hurt with a prickling sensation that made Kirk clench his jaw.

There was, however, no time to catch his breath, and even if his legs couldn’t hold his weight while they recovered, they still had enough strength in them to lunge Kirk directly against the silent knight.

It all happened in the blink of an eye; yet, the knight almost succeeded in blocking Kirk’s slam with his shield.

The silent knight was a man of great skill and good reflexes, and much more dangerous than Kirk had foreseen.

All the more reason to kill him quickly.

The Warrior of Sunlight was still too busy dealing with the woman.

_An Astoran._

Kirk would recognize those features anywhere.

Astorans were valuable prey.

Kirk couldn’t let him get away.

He had to come out victorious.

Kirk did not waste the time the woman was buying him and put all of his energy on his attack against the silent knight; if he did it right, the knight would perish without alerting the Sunlight Warrior.

Once the knight was dead, Kirk would sever the Warrior of Sunlight’s spine in half with a single stab of his thorny sword. He would try to not hurt the woman in the process, but he made no promises.

Kirk grinned as he slammed his armor against the torso and belly of the knight; he did so with so much strength that he pinned him against a wall.

He kept him there, pushing the thorns of his armor deep inside him until they tore apart his organs and crushed his ribs into tiny pieces.

Kirk’s legs screamed at the effort he was making, but he forced them to resist.

He pushed and pushed, but regardless of how much he tried, he couldn’t get the thorns pass the knight’s chainmail. 

With gigantic effort, he turned his head towards the knight, and discovered that, despite his calculations and speed, his attack had not been successful, and that the surface he was rubbing his armor against was not the knight’s torso, but his shield.

The knight, with great struggle, was keeping Kirk at bay.

Kirk knew that the knight would try to attack him the moment his strength against him faltered.

The position he was in left Kirk highly vulnerable to a mortal wound.

He had to get away from the knight.

If he backed away, he would allow the knight to prepare himself properly for a duel, a prospect that did not enthusiasm Kirk at all.

There was, however, no other choice.

Kirk would have to fight the knight and kill him; he had to win, even with his cursed arm.

_If I am to fight hindered by my injuries..._

Before Kirk jumped away from the knight, he dug the thorns of his gauntlet on an unprotected spot on the knight’s legs.

_Then so will you._

He squeezed the thorns inside as deeply as he could and ripped the knight’s thigh a violent swing.

The knight grunted loudly, the sound of his voice letting Kirk know he was already consumed by the Hollowing to an extent.

The discovery was not welcomed by Kirk.

How much Humanity could a Hollow man store inside him?

_How disappointing. Still... judging by your armor, you could be Astoran as well. An elite knight of Astora, perhaps?_

Kirk, with his legs finally recovered from his rough landing, stood tall. He held his sword with his healthy hand while his shield hung limply from the grip of his cursed one.

The knight before him did the same. His stance appeared firm and strong, as if the muscles of his thigh had not been torn to shreds by Kirk’s thorns.

 _If you are Astoran, then maybe you are still worth killing, no matter how Hollow you are. In any case, you are not walking out of here alive_.

A pause.

Then, the clash of their swords followed.

Meanwhile, the woman had gotten hold of the Warrior of Sunlight again and was feasting on his exposed neck, her teeth digging in into the same spot where she had taken her first bite.

* * *

Only one thought filled his mind.

His need to keep himself and Solaire alive.

Oscar had known something was wrong about the woman they had set to rescue when she had growled at them, but never he would have guessed she would attack Solaire.

His intuition had not been mistaken, and had Oscar listened to his gut, he could have stopped her before she had trapped Solaire in her feral embrace.

Then, the truth had come to Oscar.

He knew who she was.

The woman Laurentius had talked about. The partner in crime of the butchers he and Solaire had slain.

The man-eating woman of the depths.

She had tricked them; she had used their knightly instincts and twisted them against them.

It was a heinous strategy; one that Oscar should have noticed.

Everything had happened too fast for Oscar to digest the shift of their reality.

One moment, Solaire was holding the woman in a reassuring embrace; a second later, his neck was being devoured by her vicious jaws.

Then, instantly after, a knight had come falling down from the same hole he and Solaire had used, back when they had thought they would save an innocent woman from the claws of a monster or a crowd of wicked men.

How foolish they had been.

Oscar had heard the soft whistle of the knight’s body falling as it quickly approached him from above. Without looking up, Oscar had jumped out of the way.

Solaire’s helmet had escaped his hands.

Then, the knight clad in dark armor had landed violently on the floor, only to immediately throw himself at Oscar.

Oscar, without time to fully prepare, had relied on his reflexes to keep him safe.

His blocking had been successful, but not wholly, and a part of his leg that neither his shield nor his chainmail protected had suffered the consequences.

The knight’s armor, covered with endless sharp thorns, had left him with a bloody and destroyed thigh that barely resisted the weight of his armored body.

Now, as crippled and injured as the knight of thorns, Oscar could only find the strength to fight by thinking that, if he allowed this villain to defeat him, then Solaire would suffer the same fate.

Oscar had to kill the intruding bastard no matter what, even if that meant destroying all the muscles of his injured leg or getting mortally wounded by that long sword riddled with thorns.

Then, he would have to kill the woman as well.

There was no forgiveness in his heart for her, and he cared not for her reasons behind her deceit.

He would kill her.

He would kill her for all the pain she had caused to those poor souls she had kidnapped and devoured.

He would kill her for hurting Solaire.

The knight of thorns would share the same fate.

The thought fueled Oscar’s spirit and invigorated his arms as he and the knight of thorns grappled, sparks coming from the clash of their swords.

Even with one arm crippled by a disgusting infection, the knight of thorns stood his ground in battle. His attacks were brutal, swift and precise.

He threw at Oscar calculated slashes, always far away from his shield so that Oscar couldn’t parry him. The strategy limited the knight’s movements to one side, but it was effective in keeping him safe from one of Oscar’s lethal ripostes.

Oscar did not hold back, but his own attacks lost power and effectiveness thanks to the distance he had to keep from the knight of thorns.

That armor of his was almost as dangerous as his sword. If Oscar had not managed to block his first rolling attack, he doubted he would have survived at all.

His stomach and organs would have been reduced to a bloody pulp of minced meat.

Fully aware of his power, the knight of thorns had tried many times again to succeed with this same tactic.

Each time, Oscar managed to dodge him and keep himself safe from lethal wounds, but every attempt left him with new cuts and injuries.

As he rolled, the knight launched kicks and stabs at Oscar from his thorny boots and sword.

It was not possible for Oscar to evade all of them at once.

He couldn’t allow the fight to continue this way for long.

Despite it felt as if hours had passed, their fight had been short. Yet, Oscar already began to feel how the toll of his wounds weighed on his body.

He wanted desperately to reach his Estus flask, but the knight of thorns gave him no quarter. Like most of his attacks, it was a double edge for him too, for his relentless battle style also rendered him unable to drink some of the elixir himself.

_I have to end this!_

The knight of thorns rolled at him again.

Gathering all his courage, rather than blocking the attack with his shield and a few steps back, Oscar jumped.

In the second he spent hanging in the air, he saw Solaire’s struggle from the corner of his eye. His friend had managed to shake off the woman again, but she attacked him with demented and endless flurries of her machete. 

Most of the white on Solaire’s tunic was now red, and the sun on his chest had been reduced to tattered threads of broken silk.

_Solaire!_

Oscar screamed his name on his mind as he plummeted down and slammed his shield against the knight of thorns’ back.

His shield kept the lethal thorns away from his torso, and the plates on his legs reduced the damage greatly, but still some of those sharp ends found a way into his body.

His injured thigh was among the affected places.

Pain blinded Oscar with a white light. He endured it in all its awful intensity, and with his body keeping the knight of thorns glued to the floor, Oscar swung down his sword and amputated his infected arm.

It shattered and broke away from the knight’s shoulder like broken glass. Dozens of tiny crystals shot away as soon as Oscar’s sword sliced through it.

Without hesitating, Oscar reached for the arm he had just cut off and pulled it away from its rightful owner.

He expected to find the resistance of lingering tendons and muscles, but the arm was cleanly cut, with not a single drop of blood dripping from it or the knight’s shoulder.

With little effort, Oscar lifted it up, the screams of the knight of thorns filled the sewers as the arm became dust on Oscar’s fingers and faded away.

Oscar had not known that would happen, and he felt a shiver of horror at the thought of what ailment had transformed the knight’s arm into that dreadful form in the first place.

He would have pitied the man if he didn’t hate him with all his heart. Without wasting a second, Oscar lifted his sword again and prepared a new attack. This time, he would aim at the small slit between the armor and the helmet that exposed the knight’s neck.

He doubted he could cut off his head, but he could break it or fracture the knight’s spine.

As Oscar aimed, the knight of thorns swung his head backwards. He raised it enough for the back of his helmet to crash against Oscar’s visor. The plate sunk at the force of the impact, and though it kept the thorns away from his eyes, two of them clashed against Oscar’s Hollowed cheekbone.

An explosion of burning pain paralyzed Oscar’s body and staggered his mind.

Before he had time to scream, the knight of thorns took advantage of Oscar’s confusion and shook him off. Oscar landed on his back on the wet floor, water filtering through his chainmail and soaking his skin.

The pain spreading across his face was only half the torture the knight of thorns had to offer, and no sooner Oscar had touched the floor than the knight jumped on his chest and pinned him down with a knee.

The thorns finally reached Oscar’s belly.

Life began to pour out of him.

_Solaire._

But he was still alive, and as long as he was, Oscar would not stop fighting.

If not for his sake, then for Solaire’s.

His hand, still clinging to his sword, became the recipient of all the strength Oscar had left.

He still could win.

If he was to die, he would drag the knight of thorns together with him.

_Solaire, I’ll come back to you, just like I promised._

A dark thought infiltrated Oscar’s mind.

He couldn’t see how Solaire’s own battle was unfolding, and for all he knew, the woman could have succeeded in killing him.

_No..., you can do it. I know you can, my friend._

Oscar’s sword swung against the knight of thorns.

The knight put his only remaining hand between himself and the blade.

A meaningless effort.

The weapon would cut through it and—

It didn’t.

The moment the sword touched the armored hand, an invisible force repelled it with the same efficiency of a heavy shield. A small, swirly distortion around the knight’s hand was the only evidence produced by whatever magic he was using.

Oscar’s sword escaped his hand as it was violently thrown back.

By the time the weapon touched the floor, the knight of thorns’ hand had turned red.

_Solaire._

It was the last thought Oscar’s mind could fathom before that dark hand landed on his chest and began to twist and extract all the Humanity inside him.

* * *

Regardless of what she had done to him, Solaire had not wanted to kill the woman at first. When he had shaken her off him and sent her crashing against a wall, he had felt like a vulgar thug.

But after seeing Oscar’s plight, and after being a victim again of the woman’s relentless meddling, Solaire had stopped seeing her as a person in need of his help.

To him, she had become nothing but an enemy that stood in his way.

He had to kill her.

There was no choice.

She had tried to take another bite from his neck, and though she had succeeded in sinking her teeth into his flesh, Solaire had forced her off him before she could fill her mouth with a generous portion of his muscles again.

She had fallen to the floor with a violent slam. In that small moment, she had retreated to pick up a hidden machete she had left near the corner where Solaire and Oscar had found her.

Solaire did the same and picked up his sword. For a moment, he had forgotten about the woman and had though only of joining Oscar in his battle before that cursed knight of thorns could hurt him.

But the woman did not allow him to escape, and with a shower of chaotic flurries she had kept Solaire immersed in a battle with her that seemed to have no end.

She was an enemy like Solaire had never fought before. Even wild beasts and Hollows had a battle style more refined than the woman, whose brutal and aimless swings of her machete injured her as much as they injured Solaire.

His round shield block many of the attacks, but Solaire’s defense was not impenetrable, even less against a foe that was so bent of butchering him.

The woman did not want to kill him quickly.

She wanted to hurt him, she wanted to inflict as much pain as humanly possible on Solaire.

He had realized this when she had managed to cut off half of his right ear during one of her violent flurries.

The pain was too strong for Solaire to ignore, and though he had managed to overcome it in a matter of a few seconds, that small moment would have been enough for the woman to chop off his head and end the battle for good.

She hadn’t.

Instead, she had picked up the severed ear and put it inside her mouth. After swallowing it, she had smiled at Solaire with her blood-tainted teeth.

Then, she had jumped at him and tried to get a hold of his neck with her mouth again.

Disturbed as he was by what he had witnessed, Solaire had not remained still, and with a devastating slam of his shield he had sent the woman flying away from him.

The impact must have broken all the bones of her face.

Solaire thought that had been the end of the conflict, but the woman stood up again. Her face, now disfigured by a grotesque swelling, had begun with her frenzied flurries again, as if she was immune to pain.

Solaire, disgusted by the gory nature of the battle and eager to put an end to it, had not hold back.

The machete hit his shield, scarring it with deep dents.

Solaire endure it. He waited and watched her movements, remembering Oscar’s words about synchronizing his attacks with those of his opponents.

The woman was too much of a chaotic enemy to parry, and Solaire would not gamble his and Oscar’s lives on a technique he had not mastered yet.

Instead, he waited for an opening, for a breach he could use in his favor.

His stamina was dwindling and his arm was burning with effort. His missing ear hurt like few things had ever hurt in his life.

Solaire endured it all.

_Oscar._

After what felt like an eternity, he saw his chance. His sunlight sword did not hesitate, and with a forward stab, it found its way into the woman’s chest.

_We’ll get out of this alive._

The woman’s attacks came to a sudden stop. She opened her mouth, but nothing but a soft gasp came out.

For an instant, she looked so baffled and shocked that Solaire’s heart shrunk in shame and regret. Unable to endure the sight for long, he retreated his sword from her body.

The machete escaped the woman’s fingers. With both hands, she covered the lethal wound Solaire had left on her. She stepped back as she admired the endless flow of blood that escaped her chest.

She raised her eyes, lost into the distance that went beyond Solaire and the sewers. Her swollen lips ushered a soundless word. She collapsed one last time. Water covered her body, leaving only her face free of its touch.

She did not get up again.

Solaire felt like collapsing to his knees.

_It’s over._

But it wasn’t.

The knight of thorns remained.

_Oscar!_

Solaire turned on his heels, his sword and shield ready to fight for the sake of his friend.

His entire world shattered at what his eyes witnessed.

Oscar lying on the floor, with the knight of thorns holding him down with one knee. Oscar’s sword lay discarded away from him, and his arms were lifeless and still.

No different from those of a corpse.

_No._

Grief, anger, impotence, and a pain inside him that surpassed all his physical wounds blinded Solaire.

_No!_

Reality no longer made sense; nothing felt real, nothing except his fury and the man that had harmed Oscar.

Perhaps even killed him.

“No!”

Solaire couldn’t express with his voice the emotions that drenched his heart, but his body knew well how to unleash them.

He dashed towards the knight of thorns, the sunlight sword in his hand thirsty for his blood.

* * *

The knight was undoubtedly Astoran.

The Humanity that existed inside him, even if he was Hollowed to an extent, was abundant and strong.

Kirk drowned in the cold freshness it offered as he extracted it from the knight’s chest.

He had sworn to himself never to use the dark techniques of his former covenant. The dirty tricks of Darkwraiths were not proper of the servant of the fair lady, but the Astoran knight had left him no choice.

_I’m doing this for you, my lady. I’m not proud of it, but I do not regret it... not when it has allowed me to acquire such a precious amount of Humanity for you._

The knight’s reserves of Humanity were starting to become fainter, but Kirk did not stop. He would extract every drop of that dark essence from him until he left him empty and Hollow.

He smirked under his helmet, euphoric and drunk of the Humanity he was stealing. He was so entranced by it that he only remembered the Warrior of Sunlight’s presence when his heartbroken scream resonated behind his back.

Kirk snapped out of his trance. The thunderous steps of the Warrior of Sunlight were getting closer to him with every passing second.

Without looking over his shoulder, and knowing to well what would happen next, Kirk lowered his head. The Warrior of Sunlight’s sword swung above his helmet with a deadly whistle.

The blade didn’t touch him, but Kirk could still sense the strength behind the slash.

_Dammit!_

He pressed his knee of the knight’s belly and lunged himself forwards before the Sunlight warrior could attack again.

His hand, shaking with panic, jolted to a bag hanging from his waist. He extracted a bone from it and ignited its magic.

Kirk did not look back to discover the woman’s fate. He didn’t even try to recollect his sword or shield.

At that moment, none of that mattered.

For the first time in a long time, he had with him Humanity worthy of the fair lady. He had not the luxury to die and lose all of it.

He knew his injuries were severe and that he would die anyway, but first, he had to give the lady the Humanity.

He had to go back to her.

The bone crumbled in Kirk’s hand and its magic covered his body like dust. It began to transport him to the only bonfire he ever used.

The one the fair lady looked after.

_My lady._

Kirk thought of her as he disappeared, but the Warrior of Sunlight did not allow him to depart unharmed, and his sunlight sword left its mark on him.

It broke Kirk’s armor there where the blade touched it, and it reached the bone of his hips.

Kirk disappeared before his scream could be heard.

* * *

“Oscar.”

Solaire’s sword, wet with the knight of thorns’ blood, fell to the floor. His round shield soon followed.

He collapsed on his knees next to Oscar’s side and recollected his friend’s body on his arms. He removed Oscar’s helmet.

His face, swollen on his Hollowed half, was completely unfazed by what was happening.

“Oscar.” With tears soaking his cheeks, Solaire embraced him.

His grief wanted him to give up and drown in his pain, but Solaire resisted the temptation and remained strong.

As strong as he could be now that Oscar lay unresponsive in his grasp.

Solaire moved his head down to Oscar’s chest and glued his healthy ear against it.

He thought he heard Oscar’s heartbeat, but it was only his own pulse throbbing hard inside his ears.

“No.” Solaire lifted his head and stared at his friend. Oscar’s eyes had the same vacuous expression as the woman’s, just as life had escaped her body from the wound on her chest. “Oscar!”

Solaire’s heart sunk inside his chest. He held Oscar close to him again.

He rested his chin on top of his friend’s head and traced his hair with his fingers.

Oscar was still warm.

If Solaire closed his eyes, it was easy for him to imagine he was alive.

“My friend.” Solaire said, his throat tightly closed and his body shaking with uncontrolled hiccups and sobs. The salty taste of his tears soon filled his mouth. “My friend.”

In his despair, Solaire did the only thing his broken mind could think of.

It was perhaps too late now that Oscar was dead, but he had to try.

He couldn’t give up on his friend so easily.

Oscar had trusted him.

He had believed in him and accepted him.

He deserved better from Solaire than just his useless tears.

_Come back._

Solaire searched inside one of Oscar’s bags.

In the first bag, he found only a collection of sunlight medals.

He held Oscar closer to him, struggling to keep his focus as a wave of grief numbed his limbs.

In the second bag, he found it. Carefully, he extracted the Humanity they had obtained from the Capra Demon and infused Oscar’s corpse with it.

_Come back to me. You promised me you always would._

Solaire held Oscar closer to his chest. He wanted to feel his friend’s weight and existence for as long as he could before the body turned to ashes and faded away into nothingness.

“I’ll be here, waiting for you.” Solaire whispered to Oscar, his lips brushing against his scalp just before he disappeared.

Oscar’s weight departed from Solaire’s arms. He remained on his knees, his body trapped in that same position, unable to move in that dark reality that had become his life.

“Always.”

Solaire was so consumed by anguish that he did not notice the presence of the strange monster until it jumped at him and covered him with a deadly mist that smelled of nothing but plagued his body and soul.

He thought of Oscar one last time before following him into death.

* * *

The only basilisk Kirk and Mildred had not killed let out a gurgling roar.

* * *

Death was something, but it always felt like nothing while it lasted.

Undeads held no memories of it, no matter how many times they experienced it. All it left behind on their minds, other than lost memories, was the undeniable knowledge that it was not something meant to be repeated over and over.

If experienced only once, Death could be a well-deserved rest, almost a blessing. But when forced to go through it multiple times, it became a nightmare.

It was no wonder it eventually drove every Undead to madness.

Just like it had done to him.

He had not doubt about it.

He had already gone mad.

There was no other reason for him to think he was conscious and aware of his Death.

Around him, there was only darkness.

Was that really Death, or had he gone Hollow?

Was that what Hollowing really felt like?

“There he is.” A voice took him by surprise.

“What is this? Little Hollow, this soul is not prepared to become one with the Abyss yet. He is Undead. The bonfire will reclaim him; he’ll be reborn and—”

“No, he stays with me. Open your mouth and let him in.”

The second voice growled threateningly.

It was an awful sound that filled him with fear.

“For now, I’ll comply; but now that my decision may change. Keep this in mind, Little Hollow.”

He would have succumbed to panic and be forever plagued by hopelessness had one arm not pulled him inside a warm, safe sanctuary. The heavy stench that engulfed him was sickening, but the warmth of the body holding him close to them made up for it.

They made him feel safe.

They made him feel at peace.

“It’s alright, you are safe now. I’m here with you.”

He knew the voice.

"You came back to me."

The Chosen Undead whispered his name.

“Oscar.”


	34. The bonfire flickers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! A little late with the update, but here it is!
> 
> Thanks for your patience and to everyone reading, leaving kudos and to mrs littletall, solleret and Shady_Elf for the comments!
> 
> Hope you like this chapter!

Reah’s prayers cursed their pilgrimage with a glacial pace.

Every two steps they took seemed to be followed by a muttered prayer only Reah could hear. There was no stopping her in her duty; not even the savage skeletons and other abominations that attacked them had been enough dissuaded her.

She showed no fear and no concern for those monsters. While she prayed, she allowed Petrus, Vince and Nico to defend her with their blessed weapons and sturdy shields.

Her trust in them was absolute; touching, some may say, but Petrus knew it was not good natured.

Reah expected them to keep her safe the same way a king would expect his servants to heed his every order. She loved to deny it and pretend she thought of them as her beloved companions, but Petrus had lived long enough to see through such pretenses.

Nico and Vince, fools that they were, fell for the wench’s trickery without any resistance.

They were pitiful men, but also a menace. They were skilled enough to keep Petrus from carrying out his plan of allowing a skeleton’s blade to hit Reah in a very unfortunate mishap.

The idea was ever vivid on Petrus’ mind, but he knew better than to let it happen, no matter how much his heart desired to.

Nico and Vince would not believe him if he claimed it had been an accident, and they would not hesitate to make him pay with his life.

Once, they had trusted him blindly, but after their encounter with that damn half-Hollow of Astora, something among them had changed. It was not explicit enmity, but a permanent sense of caution, as if Petrus was a gentle dog with a history of biting when least expected.

As if reading his thoughts, Nico and Vince looked up from their card game. They were sitting at the other side of the bonfire, the first sanctuary they had managed to find since their entrance to the catacombs.

Petrus smiled at them.

_You’ll die too._

After a small pause, they smiled back. Then, Petrus looked at Reah. She was immersed in prayer, her back turned to him naively, so childishly sure that the man behind her would never try to hurt her.

Even less kill her.

_But you’ll die first._

The bonfire’s flame flickered; the scratching sound of the fire grasped Petrus’ attention. It danced softly for a moment before returning to normal. The incident caught Vince’s and Nico’s interest too, but they soon were immersed again on their game.

Petrus stared at the fire.

Someone, somewhere, had just been reborn from another bonfire’s ashes.

_A grave mistake. Why even come back to this pale imitation of life? Perhaps you’d be better off if you had remained in the eternal darkness of death._

He rested his chin on one hand as his fingers subtly traced the hilt of his morning star. He looked over his shoulder and dedicated another fleeting gaze to Reah.

_I wonder how many times I’ll have to kill you before you turn Hollow and die for good. Whether it’ll be one time or a hundred times, I’ll enjoy every single one of them. It’s the least you deserve for what you did to me._

Petrus folded his arms and closed his eyes, allowing the bonfire’s warmth to calm his agitated emotions.

Time passed in silence.

“I’m done.” Reah finally announced with her tiny voice. “Shall we continue?”

Petrus was the first to stand up. As Nico and Vince put away their cards and readied themselves, Petrus approached Reah.

She was such a small thing.

“Whenever you are ready.” Petrus bowed his head to her, his thoughts perfectly disguised behind a fond smile. “My lady.”

Behind him, the flames of the bonfire flared up and danced again.

* * *

A long time had passed.

The bonfire remained unchanged.

Lautrec was starting to think they wouldn’t come back.

He shifted his weight unto another leg and leaned heavily against the wall, his arms folded on his chest.

He wouldn’t forgive them if they didn’t.

Those damn Astorans were meant to perish by his blade; instead, that couple of idiots had gotten themselves killed by some random ruffian and one of those abominations known as basilisks.

The clash of swords and the screams of anger had guided Lautrec through the sewers and taken him to where Oscar and Solaire were. He had jumped down the hole after Solaire’s ridiculous crying had been abruptly interrupted by a bizarre blow of wind and a guttural roar.

Lautrec had killed the monster with a double slash of his swords before it’d had the chance to curse him with its lethal breath too.

The creature’s bobbling fake eyes had exploded into a shower of blood and pungent liquid.

It had growled one last time before falling to the floor, twitching and crying like an injured frog. Lautrec had allowed the monster to die a slow and painful death.

With the threat gone, he’d been free to witness the scene Oscar and Solaire had created in his absence. The narrow sewer and the water that flowed through it were tainted with blood; the air reeked of violence and death.

In the distance, Lautrec managed to catch a quick glimpse of a corpse fading into nothingness.

A woman.

Had she managed to defeat the two Astoran knights?

_Ridiculous! Unless..._

Foul play had been involved. Lautrec’s grin became a straight, emotionless line.

“What a sad, unworthy death you met. So improper of a knight.” Lautrec had knelt in front of the cursed figure before him.

He recognized it, not for its appearance, but for the shameful posture of grief and defeat that the basilisk’s breath had left it frozen in.

And also, for the sunlight sword and round shield discarded by its sides.

He had rested his hands on the figure’s shoulders.

“Useless.”

He’d pressed down with all the strength he could muster. The cursed figure couldn’t resist the pressure and small cracks had appeared all over it. After one final effort, the figure had broken apart and become shattered crystal pieces on the water and specks of dust in the air.

“How could you have died like this?” Lautrec had said to the destroyed figure that had once been Solaire. “How dare you die by a woman’s trickery and not by the touch of my blades?

The act was despicable, unforgivable, and so pitiful that it awoke Lautrec’s anger in its purest form. A knight’s demise was to be forged by the heat of battle and blessed by the survival of one’s lady. To die in any other way was a devasting tragedy to experience and a disgusting display to witness.

“Come back already, my dear Astorans.” Lautrec said to the bonfire, his whole body shaking, his face red behind his helmet. “And allow Lautrec the Embraced to grant you a death fitting of knights.”

The act could pass as a kindness on his part, but there was nothing similar to it in Lautrec’s heart.

What he did, he did so for the sake of his honor and his lady Fina, and also for the abundant Humanity he could harvest from those Astoran fools.

There was, however, another reason beating deep inside him, one that Lautrec couldn’t ignore.

Curiosity.

As much as he wished to kill the Astorans as soon as they were reborn from the ashes, he also wanted them to tell him what had happened.

Keeping his need for revenge in check would be a challenge, but earning back their trust would be as easy as breathing.

Lautrec merely needed to act as if he understood their reasons of why they had left him behind. He would have to apologize for his attitude and claim that, by saving his life, Oscar and Solaire had helped him see the error of his ways.

He would need to show remorse; a few tears would win him Solaire’s forgiveness. Oscar would be a greater challenge, but as long as Solaire trusted him and forgave him, Lautrec knew the serious elite knight would have no other choice than to accept his reintegration into their small travelling group.

The more he pictured the scenario, the more Lautrec became inclined to make it come true. His thirst for vengeance had not dwindled, but why hurry into quenching it when he could play along for while more with the foolish Astorans?

Wouldn’t his vengeance be sweeter if Oscar and Solaire died while they thought of him as a friend?

Just imagining their faces as they once again lost their lives by committing the same mistake of trusting others too easily made Lautrec shiver with excitement.

The deed could be humiliating enough to make them go Hollow instantly.

_That is, if you haven’t gone Hollow already._

His gleeful eagerness met an abrupt end at the bonfire’s inactivity. He took a step closer to the fire.

Its peaceful dance, usually comforting, made Lautrec’s blood boil.

“Don’t you dare stay dead.” Lautrec said from between his teeth. He raised his arm and held it so close to the fire that his fingers hurt by the heated confines of his gauntlet. “Don’t you dare go Hollow!”

A soft surface that wasn’t fire touched his palm. Lautrec stepped back while biting his tongue to contain a drowned scream.

He held his arm close to him, as if the unexpected touch had hurt him. He stared at the bonfire, his blank expression slowly turning into a wide grin as, little by little, the solid phantom took the shape of Solaire.

The manifestation began with the Astoran’s blond hair; it spread down until his entire body became real and tangible again.

Solaire stepped out the fire and collapsed to the floor on his chest. He lay still.

Lautrec held his breath.

He stepped closer to Solaire, anxious that the Astoran’s mind was beyond salvation.

Had he returned too maddened by death?

If this was the case, Lautrec would kill him. The idea of ending Solaire in a manner so anticlimactic left his heart devoid of satisfaction.

And what was worse, how much Humanity a demented Undead could contain inside his body, no matter how Astoran he was?

_What a waste._

Lautrec knelt next to Solaire. Carefully, he hunched his head closer to Solaire’s stiff back. He caught the sound of his soft breathing, but other than that, Solaire gave no signs of being alive or aware of his reality.

The idea of ending Solaire’s life became stronger, but Lautrec resisted it. Before he did something he couldn’t undo, he needed to make sure that Solaire had really lost his mind and was almost Hollow.

_Oscar would like that. That way, he would finally have a companion that is as hideous and pathetic as he is, perhaps even more._

He seized Solaire by the shoulders and turned him around so his back lay on the floor. The first difference Lautrec noticed was the destroyed sun on Solaire’s chest. The silk of his tunic was reduced to tatters, as if a monster had clawed it mercilessly.

Lautrec’ eyes travelled up, expecting to find Solaire’s faced corrupted and wrinkled by the Hollowing, but he found only smooth skin.

“Not Hollow.” Lautrec said with a cruel chuckle accompanying his words. He drew a hand closer to Solaire, still unsure of whether to place it on his forehead clutch it around his neck. “Then why are you—”

“Oscar.”

Solaire’s own hand intercepted Lautrec’s. He tried to evade it, but Solaire’s movement had been too quick and unexpected. The grip was strong and relentless, and had Lautrec’s wrist not been protected by his gauntlet, his bones would have been crushed by Solaire’s desperate fingers.

“Oscar.” Solaire, with his eyes shut tightly, chanted his friend’s name like a brainless parrot. “Oscar.”

“Oscar is dead, and so were you.” Lautrec said, with more bravery and authority than he was feeling. Such raw honesty was dangerous, as it could drive Solaire into a frenzy of grief and madness, but it was also the best way to ground his mind on reality again. “You are alive, Solaire.”

“Oscar.” Solaire’s hold on Lautrec faltered. Lautrec did not waste the change and freed himself of Solaire’s hold.

He grabbed Solaire’s metal bracelets and pinned his arms down on the floor. Lautrec trusted his own strength, but he knew that Solaire could easily break away from him if he tried.

He steadied his grip on the Astoran. Solaire stood limply at first, but the more he called for Oscar, the more he began to lose control.

He opened his eyes and fixed them on Lautrec.

Lautrec had seldom seen so much sadness stored in someone’s eyes. It made him sick to his stomach. Were they in Carim, Lautrec would have punished Solaire for his weakness by crashing his helmet against his unprotected forehead until his skull cracked.

“Lautrec.” Solaire whispered.

At first, Lautrec thought Solaire would shiver in horror at the realization. It would be a natural reaction. The sight of an enraged knight of Carim was a sight few people could endure without succumbing to fear.

Even more so if said knight had been humiliated and allowed to remain alive to seek his revenge.

“You two met a terrible fate, didn’t you?” Lautrec replied, his concealed face hanging above’s Solaire. “Had you not tied me up and left me behind, things would have been different. Lautrec the Embraced would have never allowed—”

“Where’s Oscar?”

The interruption turned Lautrec’s sight red. His hands found Solaire’s wrists and clutched around them with the intent of breaking them.

The pain should have been enough to make Solaire scream and beg for mercy, but the Astoran remained unfazed by it. When he spoke again, it was only to repeat the same question about his missing friend.

“He is dead.” Lautrec answered, making a titanic effort to keep his composure.

“Dead.” Solaire said under his breath. The expression in his eyes changed into one of uncontained fury, but it was only for a second; then, it became vacuous and hollow, like that of a corpse.

Lautrec could have sworn Solaire had died if it wasn’t for the gentle rise of his chest each time he took a shallow breath.

“He died.” Solaire said to no one, his sight no longer focused on Lautrec and lost into a nonexistent distance.

“And so did you.” Lautrec said, his assertion not free of malice. After giving Solaire’s wrists one last and brutal squeeze, he let him go. He expected Solaire to straighten his back and sit down, but he remained with his back on the floor.

_Look at you._

Lautrec thought as he removed his helmet, barely able to keep his features from twisting in anger at Solaire’s defeated stillness.

_Pathetic scum. You despicable excuse for a knight._

“I have not forgotten what you did to me.” Lautrec said to Solaire, uncaring of the pitiful thoughts and feelings that were currently passing through his Astoran heart and mind. “Leaving me behind like that was lowly of you. I should be angry at you, perhaps even hate you, but unlike what our reputation may say, we Carim knights are understanding. Let us put our past differences aside, at least for the moment. Right now, I am more interested in knowing what happened to you and Oscar.”

Solaire did not react.

Lautrec wanted nothing more than to give him a kick in the teeth.

He sighed from his nostrils. His approach, from his perspective, was already kind and soft enough to earn him at least a reaction of gratitude from Solaire.

_But I am dealing with an Astoran. And not any Astoran._

He stared at Solaire.

_I am dealing with the most pitiful Astoran of all._

“Tell me what happened.” With calculated movements, Lautrec slid one arm under Solaire’s neck and raised him up. He was ever wary in case Solaire became aggressive, but the Astoran was so unresponsive that Lautrec started to fear he wouldn’t be able to hold his own weight in a sitting position.

Once Solaire’s back was set straight, Lautrec removed his arm. He held it close in case Solaire collapsed again, but to his relief, the Astoran retained the position he left him in.

“Go on.” Lautrec’s golden hand rested on Solaire’s shoulder. The gesture seemed to snap Solaire from his trance, and for the first time since his revival, he truly looked at Lautrec. “It’s alright, my friend.”

Despite his gentle and convincing tone, Lautrec feared the words had sounded too forced and fake. His tongue was not used to muster such kind phrases.

Solaire’s lips came slightly apart. The hollow expression painted on his face abruptly changed into one of dozens of emotions, all of them derived from grief.

Solaire covered his face with both hands, his nails digging deep into the skin of his forehead.

Lautrec smiled at his success.

The satisfaction he felt towards himself was so great that not even the disgust that stung him when he pulled Solaire closer to him could sour his mood.

“Tell me.” Lautrec said, his silky voice overcoming Solaire’s tearless whimpers. “Tell me everything.”

* * *

Nothing felt real anymore.

His body, his thoughts, his memories; they were all just burdens.

A crushing lethargy anchored Solaire to a numbness that seemed to have no end.

To dwell in it, while not painful, was hopeless.

It was an empty calmness that seemed to drain his world from all meaning and purpose.

Solaire had managed to escape it thanks to Lautrec, if only for a few minutes. The numbing effects had promptly returned, not long after Solaire had finished telling Lautrec about the misfortunes that had befallen them on the depths.

Solaire had not shed a tear, and the more his story had progressed, the more he had felt how the hole where his heart used to be became wider.

With his emotions swallowed, Solaire had returned to his previous unresponsive state.

He knew he would never find a way out of it.

_Unless you—_

He looked at the bonfire.

Nothing about it had changed.

He looked away, fixing his eyes on his crossed legs. He caught glance of the bags hanging from his belt.

Solaire had not thought about them since his revival. With a heavy hand, he searched inside them. Inside one, he found his Estus Flask.

In another, he found his Prisms Stones and Sunlight medals.

And the cursed ring that haf been entrusted to him by—

_Oscar._

His throat closed and twisted into a painful lump.

He retreated his hand as if his own items had burned him.

He wanted to forget all about it.

He would have even considered untying his belt and throw all his possessions into the fire had it not been for the sight of a rolled-up tunic.

It pressed strongly against his side, secured by his belt.

Solaire took it gently in his hands and unfolded it. Oscar’s tunic was destroyed and dirty, not unlike his own.

He touched the destroyed symbol of the elite knights, as tattered as the sun of his covenant on his chest.

He had promised Oscar he would mend his tunic as soon as possible.

Just like he had promised him to keep him safe from all harm.

_Instead, all I did was dragging you to your death._

Solaire held the tunic closer to him, and the memory of Oscar’s body resting limply on his arms overcame any other thought on his mind.

Oscar was dead, and Solaire, in his endless stupidity, had killed him.

A sob that his body couldn’t express died in his chest and spread a bitter coldness inside him. He remembered the woman and the knight of thorns; there was only hatred for them in Solaire’s heart, but it was nothing compared with the hatred he felt towards himself.

“Oscar.” Solaire said, his voice muffled by the tunic’s fabric.

_Come back._

Solaire looked at the bonfire again. As if mocking him, the flames seemed to dance more stiffly than usual.

_You promised me._

Solaire slowly pulled away from the tunic, his thumbs caressing the silk there where they touched it.

“Please.”

“What is that dirty thing?”

Lautrec’s remark came uninvited.

Solare looked at the Carim knight as he stood by the entrance of the bonfire’s chamber. He was carrying Solaire’s helmet, sword and shield.

And also, Oscar’s crest shield, helmet and straight sword.

Solaire’s whole body stiffened at the sight of his friend’s equipment.

“Some piece of old cloth you picked up at the slums to use as a blanket?”

Lautrec dropped all the extra equipment he had with him. The weapons and helmets hit the floor unceremoniously, making a loud clanking echo that annoyed even Lautrec. Solaire saw his helmet roll around on the dirty floor and the clumsy landing of his shield and sword, but he was unfazed by it.

Yet, his heart shrunk at the sight of Oscar’s possessions being so carelessly handled. He would have confronted Lautrec about it if his mind weren’t so clouded by the dark clouds of his recent revival.

“Throw it away. It’s preferable for a knight to endure the most biting of colds than to cover himself with rags.” Lautrec said, stretching his arms and cracking his neck. “Curses, as if the weight of my own armor wasn’t enough to bear... Let’s not make this a habit between us, understood? I am not your squire for me to go around carrying your stuff or Oscar’s. Is he stilĺ not back?”

Solaire didn’t answer, his fingers clutched around the tunic.

“Yes, well... maybe it’s only natural for a half-Hollow to take so much time in being reborn. That is, if he ever does.”

“He’ll come back.” Solaire stated firmly as his own doubts and fears began to disappear. “Just you wait.”

He had to believe Oscar would.

He had to trust in his friend’s strength and willpower. Solaire couldn’t allow despair to make him lose hope.

_I promise I would wait for you, and this promise I shall not break._

“Perhaps.” Lautrec said, with a tone that wasn’t kind, but neither was it mocking. “But no one can wait forever.”

“I can.” Solaire retorted fearlessly. “I will.”

“A noble intention, but also impractical. Just as expected from you.”

Solaire’s temper flared at Lautrec’s remark. For once in his life, Lautrec’s cutting and venomous cruelty was absent in his speech, and it only made Solaire resent him like he had never done before.

“For now, we can wait. I grow tired of so much waiting and resting, but it will do you good after all you’ve been through.” Lautrec said as he sat by the bonfire, not too far from Solaire. “Here, give me that.”

Lautrec’s fingers lightly touched Oscar’s tunic.

“I’ll get rid of it and find you a more proper—”

“Don’t touch it!” Solaire snapped as he slapped Lautrec’s hand away with so much strength that it hurt the back of his own hand, but he didn’t notice the pain. He moved away, clutching the tunic to his chest as if flames would devour it if Lautrec managed to touch it again. “It’s mine.”

“No.” Lautrec said, squinting his eyes. “It’s Oscar’s. Yes, I recognize it now. The color and the symbol, destroyed as it is... You took it from him as a reward from a duel between you two?”

“It’s mine.” Solaire’s answer was so dry that it cut short any potential conversation. “Until Oscar returns, no one else can touch it. If you try to take it away from me, I’ll kill you.”

Lautrec frowned. He was massaging the hand Solaire had slapped. A bruise was starting to turn purple on its back.

“Do as you wish with it. I was merely trying to help.” Lautrec gave Solaire an incriminating glare. “I came all this way looking for you two. I was angry at first, yes, and our reunion would have been problematic if we had met before those ruffians killed you, but I never would have wished for either of you to go Hollow in a manner so pathetic, Solaire.”

“You hate us.” Solaire countered. “You caused only conflict and discord between me and Oscar, and you did it just to amuse yourself.”

“I did, but it was not with ill-intention. I already told you we Carim knights have a peculiar way to express our camaraderie. Was I abrasive? Indeed. Would I have enjoyed witnessing a battle to the death between you and Oscar? Perhaps, but what is death to an Undead? It all would have been in good, savage fun. But to see you cursed by a basilisk, or for Oscar to go Hollow... such thoughts never crossed my mind, Solaire. I never would have done to you what that man-eating woman and that other knight did.”

Solaire flinched at the mention of the culprits; he cursed his mind when it painted for him an alternative scenario, one where Lautrec had never left his and Oscar’s side.

Lautrec was right.

With him to aid them in battle, things would have turned out different. They would have received gruesome injuries, but none of them would have died.

If Lautrec had been with them instead of Laurentius, Oscar would still be alive.

Still half-Hollow, and maybe in a bad mood because of Lautrec’s taunts that mocked his skills, but alive.

_Lautrec never would have fallen for the man-eating woman’s treachery. I would have confronted him fiercely, but he would have not been dissuaded. He would have seen clearly what an idiot like me couldn’t._

Solaire looked down at the tunic on his arms. His body, still heavy and numb, trembled of his control. There was something stuck inside his chest, something that demanded urgent venting.

It hurt, but Solaire couldn’t allow it to escape him or show in his face.

If he did, he would be making Oscar’s departure feel more real and permanent.

He couldn’t do it.

It was too soon to lose hope; too soon to accept such a bleak change in his world.

_You promised me._

Solaire closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the destroyed sigil of Oscar’s tunic, the same way he did with his talisman every time he casted a miracle.

Just like Oscar, his miracles were gone, but Solaire knew he would get them back, and that his friend would return to him too.

He couldn’t let this piece of hope escape his grasp.

“Oscar will be back.” Solaire said, his voice invigorated by a confidence he thought was lost to him. “He is stronger that we both think, Lautrec. He has a mission in his heart, a fate to fulfill.”

Solaire extended his arm towards the crest shield, helmet and straight sword that had landed close to him. He recollected Oscar’s equipment and, with more care than he had ever showed to his own weapons, he placed them in front of him.

The sword and helmet rested on the shield’s smooth surface as the bonfire’s flame shone its light upon them.

“He will overcome this, for he is the Chosen Undead.”

“Faith and hope can be the sharpest of doubled-edged swords.” Lautrec said, staring with indifference at Oscar’s equipment. “Be careful you don’t fall victim to them, Solaire. Lordran has already showed you its cruelty; do not think it will spare you from experiencing it again.”

Solaire drew breath to speak, but the dance of the bonfire swallowed his unspoken words.

He sprang back to his feet, the tunic in his hands escaping his grasp. His heart hammered inside his chest with unchecked joy as he witnessed Oscar’s revival.

Lautrec was standing by his side, but Solaire had not time or space in his mind for him at all.

All that was real for him was his friend as his ghostly silhouette slowly turned into a tangible body again.

Solaire could have wept of joy and relief, but he held back his tears. He didn’t want his crying to be the first image Oscar would see after his revival.

After what Solaire had done to his friend, he felt it would be the greatest insult he could cause to Oscar.

Oscar had died because of him. Before he could cry in front of him again, Solaire had to repent and make up for his mistakes.

Solaire knew that Oscar would grant him forgiveness if he asked him for it. Maybe he would scold Solaire and be disappointed in him for his failure, but he would forgive him.

A kind and understanding soul.

That was who Oscar was.

_No. This time, I need to prove it to you, that I can be better. I need to earn your forgiveness, not ask for it. Oscar, I will not fail you again. I promise._

Solaire spread his arms and caught the man the bonfire expelled. The two of them fell on their knees, trapped in a silent embrace.

_Oscar._

Solaire lost his voice and his strength. He dug his nails into the other’s back, the void in his soul becoming so wide and dark that he swore it dripped pure darkness inside him like a piece of the abyss.

“Solaire.”

Laurentius whispered on his shoulder, surrounding Solaire with his arms.

“I—”

The pyromancer couldn’t continue.

His voice broke into a whimper.

“Who the hell is this?” Lautrec asked. More than concerned, he sounded annoyed by the intrusion of someone that was nothing but a stranger to him. “Solaire?”

Solaire didn’t answer.

His arms dropped to his sides. Laurentius held him still.

Solaire allowed it, but not out of kindness. He simply didn’t care.

_Oscar._

The bonfire spat out a soft and final sizzle. Then, its embers and flame returned to normal.

* * *

_Solaire._

Amidst the darkness, Oscar began to struggle. He didn’t want to leave a place so peaceful, one where his mind became free of the horrors of his life, but he knew he had to.

Even if nothing made sense in death, he still remembered a promise he had made, and the person he had made it to.

“What’s wrong?” The Chosen Undead held Oscar closer to them.

“I have to go back.”

“What?”

“I have to return. He needs me.”

“Who?”

“My friend.”

“I am your friend, and I need you too. I just got you back, please don’t leave me again.”

Oscar froze at the assertion. The Chosen Undead had spoken not with authority, but with a grief so strong that Oscar swore it was sipping right into his own soul.

“My friend.” The Chosen Undead pressed their forehead against Oscar’s. He wasn’t sure if his body still had a form, but when he felt the Chosen Undead’s touch, everything made sense. “The only person that ever cared about me. Don’t leave. Stay here with me in this dark and endless peace forever.”

“Chosen Undead.” Oscar said as every pain, regret and fear he stored in his heart seemed to disappear. “I... I can’t.”

“Yes, you do.” The Chosen Undead replied. “Just let go, of everything.”

Everything.

_My fate._

_My life._

_My memories._

And also—

_Solaire._

The name anchored Oscar back into his self-awareness again.

“It’s alright.” The Chosen Undead said. “Keep your memories, I do not mind. Not as long as you stay.”

“But I need to go back.” Oscar stuttered as the Chosen Undead’s arms became chains he couldn't break. “I have to.”

The Chosen Undead didn’t answer, and Oscar’s words were swallowed by the tongue that served as their surface.

* * *

_“Ah, so it’s you. No wonder they were so eager to find you. Ringer of the Bell, potential pawn of Frampt.”_

Kaathe clenched his jaws so that the beings inside his mouth wouldn’t escape and they could remain enjoying their reunion in peace.

_“Oscar, elite knight of Astora.”_


	35. Glowing messages on the sewer's walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry this took me longer than usual; there were some parts of the chapter I had to rewrite a few times haha but I finally managed to get it done.
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to Mirs Littletall, shady_elf and inedible for the comments! They truly mean a lot :D
> 
> I hope you like the chapter!

Into the chamber of his fair lady he collapsed.

Travels ignited by homeward bones were seldom pleasant. Kirk was used to the setbacks, whether they affected his body or mind.

He emerged from them with his head tall, not a single grunt of pain escaping his lips.

But not this time.

This time, his destroyed hips succumbed to the weight of his armor the moment he materialized in his lady’s bonfire. The thunderous crash of his fall resonated inside the chamber.

It was a deafening sound, but it paled when compared to his own screams.

Kirk wanted to keep his suffering private; not for his sake, but for that of his lady.

The girl was a gentle and kind creature. She deserved from Kirk only comfort and protection, not the burden of his struggles.

Kirk’s conviction beat strong inside his chest, almost like a second heart, but his body, being only a pathetic and broken thing, betrayed him in the cruelest manner.

The Warrior of Sunlight had wounded him like few men ever had. The power of the single blow he had managed to deliver had left burning torment where Kirk’s hips and legs had once been.

Kirk would not walk again, not without dying first.

And he would die soon.

He could feel it, how the growing weakness consumed his body. Death was spreading inside him, its coldness clashing with the warm touch of his blood against his skin.

Estus was not an option.

His flask was gone, either abandoned at the sewer where he had killed the Astoran elite knight, or lost during his homeward bone travel.

“What is the meaning of this?” The guardian inquired after Kirk’s screams finally ceased. The strange creature approached Kirk with his slow and clumsy pace. He crawled around the floor like a spider, his arms barely able to support the weight of the eggs that grew and stacked on his back. “Silence! Can’t you see you are upsetting the lady?”

Kirk was not fond of him. He had a name, but Kirk had never bothered to call him by it.

He stopped right in front of Kirk; his deformed face, always touching the floor, was so close to Kirk’s that the knight could smell the putrid scent that came from the other’s blistered skin.

“You’re bleeding.” The guardian said, his former annoyed tone gone from his voice. “What happened?”

Kirk did not bother to answer such a stupid and irrelevant question

He had not the energy, and certainly not the time, to waste what little life was left inside him in quenching the creature’s curiosity.

Instead, with a titanic effort that came close to make him scream again, Kirk stretched his arm towards the guardian. He opened his hand, glowing red, and from his palm, Humanity manifested.

“Take it, Eingyi.” How he could speak when his lungs felt as if they were filled with fire was beyond Kirk’s own comprehension. “Give it to her.”

Eingyi stared at him with a stupid expression plastered on his horrible features. Fortunately, his moment of bafflement was brief. He took from Kirk’s hand all the Humanity he had harvested for the fair lady.

Astoran Humanity, most of it.

It would soothe her pain for a long while.

Free of his burden and satisfied with his duty, Kirk surrendered to the agonizing death his body was going through.

It hurt.

It had never stopped hurting, but now he could accept the pain in peace, knowing that his efforts had not been in vain and that, soon, the fair lady’s agony would be eased.

_My pain is nothing compared to hers._

The thought assaulted Kirk like a backstab and filled him with shame. 

“Quelaag? Are you in pain?” The fair lady asked, and though Kirk couldn’t see it, one of her hands was stretched at his direction. “Please, do not cry. I am fine. It doesn’t hurt, sister. Not at all.”

“My lady.” Kirk said with the last breath he had left inside him.

He wished to apologize for his weakness, for worrying her with his cries of pain, but death took him before he could speak a word more.

* * *

“W-why am I to stay behind? I-I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. Such dullness of mind is typical among swamp leeches such as yourself.”

“I wasn’t talking to you!”

The rise in Laurentius’ voice broke what little calm existed among the three men.

Solaire stopped writing his message on the wall and stood in front of Laurentius before Lautrec had the chance to attack him.

His intervention was pertinent, for Lautrec already had extended a hand and was aiming directly at Laurentius’ throat.

Had Solaire’s body not blocked his way, he probably would have choked Laurentius, perhaps even snapped his neck.

It was heartless thing to do, especially after how Laurentius’ last death had unfolded.

Oscar wouldn’t have allowed such petty displays of brutality.

Neither would Solaire.

“Enough, Lautrec.” He told the Carim knight as Laurentius gasped behind his back. “You are making a fool of yourself.”

“A subject you know plenty about.” Lautrec replied, and though his face was hidden behind his golden helmet, Solaire could still feel his heartless smirk.

He breathed a chuckle before retreating his hand.

“Relax. I wasn’t going to hurt this idiot.” Lautrec said, folding his arms and loosening the tension in his shoulders. “I was merely going to smack some sense into him. You can’t blame me for losing my patience at him for asking stupid questions. And that damn stuttering of his! I am starting to think he does it just to piss me off... it wouldn’t be the first time these eccentric pyromancers make me lose my temper.”

“M-mock me if it pleases you! Your insults are of-of no matter to me, knight of Carim!” Laurentius exclaimed with unnatural defiance. “P-perhaps I was going too fast for you, so I’ll say it again, slower this time. I am talking to Solaire, not you.”

Lautrec’s silence said all that his offended tongue couldn’t. If their circumstances were different, seeing him being confronted by Laurentius would have been amusing, perhaps also admirable.

Deep inside him, Solaire could feel the spark of a good-natured feeling, one that would have made him laugh if things were different and Oscar was still alive.

He wasn’t.

He remained dead.

As long as he did, it felt treacherous for Solaire to allow himself to smile, let alone laugh as if everything was fine.

As if his stupid decisions hadn’t costed Oscar his life.

_I don’t have the right._

Solaire couldn’t know what expression he had on his face, but judging by Laurentius’ reaction when he turned around to face him, it was a bleak one.

“I already told you, Laurentius. I need you to stay behind,” Solaire said. His voice sounded strange even to his own ears, but he didn’t care, “so that you can welcome and protect Oscar once he comes back. I’ll leave his sword, shield and helmet in your care; be sure to return them to him. Treat them well. He is very finicky about his equipment.”

Solaire said those last words almost fondly, only to immediately fall into an abrupt silence.

It was as if his voice had abandoned him.

He swallowed, expecting to feel a painful lump in his throat.

He felt nothing. 

After taking a deep and soundless breath, he continued.

“Once Oscar is with you, take care of him until I and Lautrec return. Monsters and Hollows don’t tend to come too close to bonfires, but I wouldn’t feel at ease if I knew Oscar is here all by himself.”

_He wouldn’t accept any of this. He would probably chide me for worrying so much about him. Knowing him, he would think I am treating him like a child and he'd get angry at me._

Solaire almost smiled at such image. It was fortunate that, even when his heart succumbed to impulses of happiness, his body remained unable to express it.

“I- I should go with you.” Laurentius said, anchoring his eyes to the floor for a moment before looking at Solaire again. “I should fight by your side, not stay behind like a coward.”

Laurentius looked at Solaire as if he expected a furious retaliation.

Solaire understood Laurentius’ sentiment, but he couldn’t give him the reaction he expected.

“You are a coward. We all know it.” Lautrec intervened from behind Solaire’s back. “Stop pretending you aren’t. Accept the role Solaire assigned you, pyromancer. A spinless wretch like you would only get in our way.”

“I c-can fight! My fire is more powerful than—”

“Your fire, mixed with your cowardice, is a menace, or in a kinder scenario, a useless tool. If we come across a powerful enemy, and you become overcome by fear, you’ll blaze us all to death. And even if you manage to keep some semblance of sanity amidst your panic, you won’t be able to do anything else other than pissing your pants and whimper like a cornered dog.”

Lautrec silenced Laurentius more effectively than a stab in the gut would have. Hurt twisted Laurentius’ face.

Solaire knew well that kind of hurt. He couldn’t remember a time in his life where he hadn’t felt it.

It was not the same hurt that came from receiving menial insults; it was the hurt that originated from the realization that the statements of others, no matter how merciless, were also true.

A twinge of sympathy sprouted in Solaire’s heart. He wanted to act on it, but what could he possibly say?

What did an idiot plagued by failure like him could do to help Laurentius now?

_I am a Warrior of Sunlight._

Solaire put a hand on the destroyed sun of his tunic.

The thought rang hollow, but he clung to it.

“Laurentius, if I want you to stay here, it is not because I’ve lost my trust in you.”

The effort Solaire made to rest his hand on the pyromancer’s shoulder was exhausting.

“I trust you. I trust you to the point where I am willing to leave Oscar’s safety in your hands. Lautrec and I will do our best to quickly eliminate all the remaining threats that remain. We’ll return here as soon as possible, but it is likely that Oscar will be reborn before we are back. Please, be here for him; take care of him in my absence.”

Solaire could hear his own heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

_I promise I’ll be back, Oscar. But first, I have to make sure this place is safe. I have to make sure you won’t die here again. Not so soon._

He took his hand off Laurentius’ shoulder and rested it on the rolled-up tunic hanging from his belt.

_Not ever again._

“I-I...” Laurentius wanted to say a lot more. Solaire knew it, but the pyromancer showed him kindness and understanding, and ended up answering only with a humble, “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.” Solaire said.

It was a dry answer, and sadly, the only one he could offer to Laurentius.

The pyromancer smiled apologetically at him. There was unspoken sadness in his eyes.

Solaire did not inquire about it. In silence, he returned to the wall and finished writing his message with his orange soapstone.

Once he was done, he took a step back and admired his work. The letters of his messaged glowed golden. He had written it right in front of the bonfire so that Oscar could see it as soon as he returned to life.

**_Welcome back, my friend._ **

“You know he’ll probably won’t see it, right?” Lautrec commented, standing next to Solaire. “You have no guarantee Oscar will be facing this exact wall once he is reborn.”

It was a simple thought that Solaire had not contemplated. The usual humiliation that took over him, though dampened, still sent a shiver of shame down his spine that reddened his ears.

“Seriously, just when I think you can’t get any more stup—”

“I’ll make sure Oscar reads it.” Laurentius cut off Lautrec boldly. “I’ll help him stand so that he can see your message. It will be the first thing he sees; I promise.”

“Well, aren’t you kind.” Lautrec said with raw mockery. “If we are done with the sentimentalities, let’s get going, Solaire. My patience is running thin, and the beasts that still linger around this place won’t eradicate themselves.”

Solaire did not reply; he waited for Lautrec to abandon the chamber before he went after him.

He put his helmet back on. Once his shield was firmly settled on his forearm and his fingers were wrapped around his sunlight sword’s hilt, Solaire left the bonfire’s chamber.

“Be careful.” Laurentius said.

Solaire halted his steps and looked at him; more than focusing on the pyromancer, he stared at Oscar’s equipment, carefully placed against the wall, right under his message.

_Come back soon._

He turned his head and faced the chamber’s entrance again. He noticed how Laurentius drew breath and opened his mouth to speak.

Solaire left the place before he could pronounce a single word.

* * *

The sewers, the so-called Depths, were a hellish place.

Not because they were dangerous or ridden with abominations; on the contrary, they were the dullest of areas, with not a single being around to distract Lautrec from the endless monotony.

Perhaps the depths had been entertaining once, before Oscar and Solaire had stepped in and killed all the worthwhile threats that resided within.

There were some rats left, as well as some bizarre blobs of water that crawled around the roofs and the floor, but they were puny and insignificant enemies, barely worthy of being killed by the blade of a knight of Carim.

Deep down, Lautrec wished the man-eating woman or the knight of thorns that had defeated Oscar would ambush him and Solaire. The thrill of a surprise attack would at least send his blood rushing through his body again.

As it was now, with only weak monsters to oppose him, Lautrec was starting to fear his mind would become corrupted by boredom.

Solaire, the hopeless idiot, also proved to be a poor source of entertainment when Oscar was not around. Unlike Oscar, he did not respond to Lautrec’s insults with anger, and though the taunts he threw at him were not as cruel as before, they still were sharp enough to incite a reaction of him.

Yet, Solaire refused to play along, and merely remained quiet, allowing Lautrec’s words to become meaningless air.

Solaire had always been more patient than Oscar, but he wasn’t above talking back to Lautrec.

His unresponsiveness, either motivated by meekness or indifference, was a test for Lautrec’s patience, and another burden to add to his growing boredom.

To make things worse, Solaire insisted on making constant pauses to write more messages for Oscar on the walls.

The content of the messages was, as expected from Solaire, idiotic and pathetic.

**_This way._ **

**_Don’t give up!_ **

**_Right here._ **

**_You are doing great, my friend._ **

**_Be careful._ **

**_Follow this path._ **

**_Over here. You can do it!_ **

This last message proved to be the last straw for Lautrec. His mood was already too tainted by boredom for it to endure more ridiculous displays of Astoran sentimentalism without exploding.

“Why the hell are you even writing all these messages in the first place?” He snapped at Solaire just as the Astoran had finished writing the last letter. “Enough with this! You are only wasting our time.”

Solaire looked at him. For the first time since they had left the pyromancer behind, Solaire dignified Lautrec with an answer.

“They are for Oscar.” Solaire didn’t sound angry or offended. The lack of emotion in his voice disconcerted Lautrec and almost made him wish he hadn’t spoken at all. “I know Laurentius will try his best to convince him to wait for us at the bonfire, but Oscar is very stubborn.”

A small sound escaped Solaire. It almost sounded like a chuckle, but it had been so faint and hollow that Lautrec couldn’t tell.

“No doubt Oscar will follow after us, even if he has to drag Laurentius along as he tries to stop him by holding him by the ankles. That’s why I am leaving these messages, so that Oscar can find us.”

A semblance of life adorned Solaire’s voice when he spoke next.

“That’s just how Oscar is. To tell you the truth, I am surprised his unyielding perseverance didn’t get us into a fight before. We did argue on quite a few occasions, but... oh, look at me! Badmouthing my best friend behind his back. I’ll make sure to apologize for this, though I’m sure Oscar will just laugh it off. That’s just how he is.”

“Oscar is not coming back.”

The declaration lingered between them like shattered glass. Though a part of Lautrec knew he had said it to see how Solaire would react to it, another part of him had done so to stop Solaire from humiliating himself in such manner.

There was something that was beyond pathetic in seeing a knight so immersed in denial, like a child refusing to accept reality.

The knightly side of Lautrec couldn’t stand it. As much as he hated and resented Solaire, he despised more to see knighthood being degraded by his Astoran weakness.

“He will.” Solaire said, not a trace in doubt in his statement. There was also no fury in it, only the pure-hearted conviction that what he was saying was true.

The reaction took Lautrec aback, but it did not make him desist. “Stop lying to yourself. You know as well as I do that Oscar is dead. He was already half-Hollow; both his body and mind were not fit to endure another death. With every second that passes, Oscar’s revival becomes less likely. No Undead should take this long to come back.”

“I know.” Solaire said, impassible and unshaken by Lautrec. “But I also know Oscar will come back.”

“Why?” Lautrec demanded, a vein beating strongly on his forehead. “Why are you so sure of it?”

Had Oscar performed some kind of ritual to revert his Hollowing?

Had he been infused with an ungodly amount of Humanity before dying?

Had Oscar even died at all, or was everything an overly complicated prank the Astorans and that pyromancer were playing on Lautrec? Perhaps as a form of revenge for everything Lautrec had done and said to them in the past.

It was an unlikely scenario, and so very ridiculous, but Lautrec couldn’t think of a better reason to justify Solaire’s conviction.

His doubts did not go unanswered.

Calmly, Solaire shared with him the origin of his faith.

“I know because he promised me.”

At first, Lautrec thought he had heard wrong. Solaire was not the brightest of men, but Lautrec couldn’t believe that even such idiot was capable of a line of though so childish.

“What do you mean by that?”

“He promised me he would always come back to me, and I promised him the same thing.” Solaire answered calmly. “Astoran knights never break a promise, and if there was ever a man that represented the ideal of what an elite knight should be, it is Oscar.”

_At least we can agree on that last statement. Weak, deluded, obsessive, despondent... Oscar was indeed everything knights of your land can ever aspire to become._

Lautrec knew better than to speak the thought out loud, but it still made him smile.

“You can’t be serious.” He scoffed under his breath.

“You think this is all nonsense.” Solaire added, taking a step closer to Lautrec. His heart skipped a beat when Solaire did not stop. “You think of me as a blind fool, as some naïve idiot. Lautrec, do not misunderstand. I am not angry at you. I have long stopped caring about what you think of me. If you are so set on believing Oscar is dead, then go ahead. Think what you may of either us, but know that I will always believe in Oscar. My faith in him remains unfaltering; none of your pitiful insults or taunts can change this, so don’t waste your breath.”

“Reality will catch up to you soon enough.” Lautrec said, standing firm in front of the Astoran. “And when it does, you will suffer, and all that suffering will be no one’s doing but your own.”

“You have your convictions, and I have mine. We’ve said enough.” Solaire passed walking next to Lautrec.

The second they spent side by side was drenched with the cold expectation of an attack.

Neither struck the other.

“Let’s get going.” Solaire said, just a step away from Lautrec’s back.

It took a moment before Lautrec followed him.

_Will it make you go Hollow?_

The question fluttered around his mind.

_Or will you rise above it?_

An old man cladded in weird armor greeted them. Solaire went up ahead to talk to the stranger.

Lautrec stayed behind; his eyes fixed on Solaire’s back.

_I think we both already know the answer. Don’t we, Solaire?_

* * *

The merchant’s name was Domhnall, and he was from the distant land of Zena. Solaire knew the former because the merchant told him, but the latter he had known the moment the man had greeted him and Lautrec with a loud and welcoming _“Aw, siwmae.”_

Solaire recognized the accent immediately and became relieved.

Carim and Zena had a peaceful history between them; at least, as peaceful as one could ever be with Carim.

Hopefully, that would imply a kinder treatment from Lautrec toward the man. It wasn’t as if Lautrec wasn’t capable of affability, after all.

He had been, no matter how rarely, polite to Solaire and Oscar, and he had treated the almost Hollowed merchant back at the burg with no particular meanness or disdain.

Then again, he had also tried to kill Griggs just because of his Vinheimer birth, and he had been spiteful and cruel to Laurentius as soon as the pyromancer had been reborn from the bonfire.

The former case Solaire could understand, if not justify, given the history between Vinheim and Carim; but the latter had stricken him as odd. The Great Swamp was not in bad terms with Carim, and it was not rare to see pyromancers fighting alongside Carim knights in times of war.

And yet, Lautrec had treated Laurentius no better than he would have treated an Astoran.

_Still... when we first met him, he was not hostile towards me and Oscar. Cold and distant, yes, but not antagonistic._

Whether his initial amiability had been an act or not, Solaire didn’t know. At times, he wondered how truly selective Lautrec was when it came to the traditions and beliefs of his homeland he decided to ignore or follow in Lordran.

It was a situation all Undead, sooner or later, found themselves dealing with.

This was a thought Solaire would have shared with Oscar; one they could discuss, maybe while sitting next to a bonfire, drinking Estus as if it was Astoran spiced cinder.

A comforting image.

Solaire promised himself to make it happen as soon as Oscar came back to life.

He kept that soothing future close to his heart as he dealt with his conflicting present.

Fortunately to all involved, Lautrec caused no discord, and his treatment of Domhnall, while not nice, was indifferent enough to keep any more trouble from arising.

“From Carim and Astora, eh? I would recognize the craftmanship of your armors and equipment anywhere.” Domhnall said affably. “They could be worth a good price, especially that round shield and the golden helmet.”

“Try anything and you’ll be seeing death right in the eye.” Lautrec warned menacingly.

“Huh? What’s that about? There’s no need to get upset. It was not a threat, just an observation. I am a merchant and a collector, not some petty thief! Why is everyone so rude around here? I know we are all Undead, but bloody hell.”

“I apologize.” Solaire said, nodding his head slightly. “He didn’t mean it.”

“I did mean it.” Lautrec added, but Solaire ignored him.

Speaking louder, he continued.

“I know it’s no excuse, but I ask for your understanding. Our passing through this place has not been easy for either of us.” Solaire made a small pause to regain his composure. Once he gathered enough courage, he proceeded, “I hope you can understand.”

“No harm done.” Domhnall shrugged, his voice revealing the smile concealed behind his bizarre helmet. “I am sorry to hear your travel has not been kind to you, young knight. I know, how about I lend you a hand? And to your Carim friend too, as proof that all is forgiven and forgotten.”

“I couldn’t care less about your worthless forgive—”

“Choose one of my wares. I’ll sell it to you at half the price.” Domhnall announced, spreading his arms above his merchandise set on the sewer’s floor.

“How about some good ol´pine resin? You can never have enough pine resin! Or perhaps you would be interested in this master key? It opens every locked door you’ll find in your way; a must-have for every daring adventurer or brave knights such as yourselves. Now, if what you are looking for is a weapon to keep you safe, allow me to recommend you my crystal swords and shields. Don’t let their fragility fool you, they are as lethal as the sharpest of steel. Still not convinced, eh? Well, how about some new armor? Yours has definitely seen better days, my young Astoran costumer; don’t you worry, this fine Zenian armor, a replica of my own, will keep you safe no matter what enemy you—"

“I cannot stand this.” Lautrec said, taking a step closer to the merchant, who swallowed the rest of his banter and covered his head behind his arms. “If you are going to ask this fool something, then do it already, Solaire. By the goddesses, and here I thought that pyromancer and his clumsy tongue were annoying.”

“Enough.” Solaire demanded strictly. Then, with a slightly mellower voice, he said to Domhnall. “I am sorry, but I do not seek to do business with you.”

“Ah.” The merchant shrugged again; his disappointment was not wholly masked by his friendliness. “That’s a shame, but no matter.”

“But I wanted to ask you something, if that’s alright with you.”

“A greedy lad you are.” Domhnall said. For a moment, Solaire couldn’t tell if it was a complaint or a jest. He had started to fear Lautrec would force Domhnall to speak when the merchant chuckled and said, “Ask away! I don’t know if I have the answer you are looking for, but I’ll try my best to aid you.”

“Thank you.” Solaire said, more annoyed than he was amused. “Do you know where the entrance to Blighttown is?”

“Blighttown? Lad, why would you even seek to enter that cursed place? The only ones crazy enough to venture inside that hellish pit are those careless knights of Catarina! Why—”

“My friend is on his pilgrimage to ring the second bell of Awakening.” Solaire replied, harsher than he had intended. “We were told by an old warrior that said bell is in Blighttown. Dangerous as it is, we must find a way to get there. I appreciate your concern for me, but it is not necessary.”

“A Carim knight that longs to become the Chosen Undead from the Astoran prophecy?” Domhnall tilted his head, his helmet directly pointing towards Lautrec. “Lordran is really a land where anything can happen.”

“Not him.” Solaire corrected. He could hear the many insults Lautrec muttered under his breath; they weren’t exactly discreet, and a few of them reached Domhnall.

The laid-back merchant scoffed, offended, but remained otherwise calm and collected.

“My friend is not here at the moment. He died.” Solaire couldn’t continue. He felt his mouth turn dry and bitter.

_No, he didn’t die. He was killed._

The man eating-woman and the knight of thorns were the ones to blame. Solaire felt how blood pulsated in his neck and turned his face red.

“So it was you.” Domhnall said after a faint gasp. “Those screams I heard... Oh lad, I am truly sorry. Once he is back to life, bring your friend to me. I’ll give him an item of his choice, for free.”

“Yes.” Solaire’s lips quivered. It was a relief his helmet kept it private. With a soft voice, he said, “Thank you.”

“This place... it seems it is a lot more dangerous than I thought. It may be a good idea to move to another location soon, but don’t you worry! I will remain here until your friend has returned. Now, as for the entrance to Blighttown.”

Domhnall cocked his head directly at a big brass door heavily tainted by rust not too far away from them.

Solaire and Lautrec stared at it.

“You’ll need to find a way to open it, though.” Domhnall continued. “Maybe if you keep exploring this place, you’ll come across something that'll do the trick.”

“How about that master key of yours?” Lautrec said. “You said it opened every locked door, didn’t you? Or was it all a lie to try to scam us? Knights of Carim do not take kindly to this sort of merchantly tricks, you know. Were we in Carim, I would have all the right to gut you and hang you from your entrails at the market’s entrance.”

“Calm down, won’t you? It’s not as if master keys had magical properties and could open every lock in the world! I’ve already tried.” Domhnall told Lautrec, shaking nervously despite his confident tone. “Maybe I worded it wrong. It was not a lie, just a poor choice of words.”

“How convenient, and how entirely expected.” Lautrec chuckled cruelly, as if enjoying the fear he inspired in Domhnall. “If only I had my own master key with me, I could try for myself.”

He put a hand on Solaire’s shoulders, pressing his fingers tightly, almost making Solaire grunt in discomfort.

“If only someone hadn’t stolen it from me when I was unconscious. Lordran really brings the worst out of people, don’t you agree?”

Solaire didn’t answer.

The accusation, while not entirely accurate, wasn’t false either. It had been Oscar who had decided to take Lautrec’s mater key, the same he probably had bought from the Undead merchant back at the burg.

Solaire had not protested against the idea, and he didn’t regret it, not even now that Lautrec had confronted him so boldly about it.

“Until Oscar returns, your key is gone.” Solaire brushed Lautrec’s hand off him. “There’s no point in dwelling in the past. What we need to do now is focusing in finding a way to open this door.”

“How practical. You almost sounded like Oscar; he would be so proud of you.” Lautrec commented casually, but Solaire knew the observation was full of venom.

It managed to permeate through the numbness that had taken over Solaire’s soul, and had Domhnall not been there, he would have showed Lautrec what he really thought of his disingenuous remarks.

“Have you searched that area?” Domhnall intervened, perhaps sensing the dangerous tension growing between the two knights. He pointed at a set of stairs right at the middle of the hall. “I saw a knight come from there not long ago. I don’t know where those stairs lead, but—”

“A knight?” Solaire questioned, his blood freezing in his veins. The anger that was building up inside him against Lautrec collapsed and disappeared.

What replaced it was something different and much stronger.

“Aye. I tried to do some business with him, but he ignored me as if I was more insignificant than his shadow!” Domhnall reminisced, folding his arms on his chest. “A strange man; he was cladded in equally strange armor. I would have offered him a good deal for it, though... what a shame. I wonder if he is still around here somewhere. If you see him, can you tell him I am interested in—Oi, where are you going?”

Solaire only stopped once he reached the stairs.

He inspected them.

It was the road the man that had killed Oscar had walked; that was more than enough reason for Solaire to dread the stairs as if they were cursed territory.

But he wouldn’t back down. He would cross those stairs and reach whatever area laid beyond them.

He would destroy any creature that stood in his way. If the knight of thorns had come from that place, who knew what other abomination could remain at the other side, luring around those unexplored areas of the depths.

Solaire would kill them.

He would make the depths the safest of places of Lordran so that no threat would harm Oscar once he came back.

How he would manage to keep Oscar safe once they entered Blighttown, or how Oscar would react to Lautrec’s presence, were worries for another time.

For now, until Oscar was once again by his side, all that mattered to Solaire was to ensure his safety, no matter how ephemeral it could be.

_I will not lose you again._

“Lad?” Domhnall said.

Solaire heard him, but he ignored him.

He didn’t do so consciously. His body merely moved as if it had a will of its own, and before he knew it, he became engulfed by the dim light of the stairs’ corridor.

He could see the entrance of the next area getting closer with each step he took.

Solaire didn’t stop to wait for Lautrec, and he entered the darkness all on his own.

* * *

“What’s the damn hurry?” Lautrec demanded, quickening his steps to keep up with Solaire.

The Astoran didn’t answer. He merely kept venturing deeper into the darkness of the that new area.

There was something wrong about that whole place. Lautrec could feel it in the thick air that surrounded him. The absolute quietude, more than a sign of safety, was like the prelude of a great danger.

And Solaire, so ignorant of it, kept walking towards it, as if he was a sheep eager to enter a den of wolves.

“Stop and listen to me, you damned fool!” Lautrec snapped and grabbed Solaire by the one of his metal bracelets. “Do you want to get killed? Are you so eager to die so you can finally see your dear Oscar again?”

Solaire dropped his shield.

He turned on his heels and delivered a punch to Lautrec’s helmet. Were it not for it, Solaire’s knuckles would have broken Lautrec’s cheekbone in half.

The impact caused an echo inside the helmet’s confines that deafened and disoriented Lautrec. He let go of the Astoran.

Lautrec did not allow his shock to distract him for long. He recovered in a matter of seconds and stood in front of Solaire, one hand already resting on the hilt of a shotel sword.

He looked at Solaire’s hand. His broken knuckles were already swollen, but Solaire gave no signs of being aware of the pain.

“Well, that little hissy fit didn’t accomplish much, did it?” Lautrec said, swallowing his anger and touching the small dent Solaire had left on the plates of his helmet. “Perhaps I was wrong. Oscar would be so very disappointed in you; perhaps it is a blessing he is dead and he won’t be seeing how pathetic the reactions of his little squire are.”

“Shut up!” Solaire’s voice filled the entire area. Raw anger and frustration distorted it, replacing its previous disturbing numbness. “Just shut up!”

“What’s the matter? Can’t’ you handle reality without succumbing to madness?” Lautrec insisted. “Typical of Astorans, though I must say I expected better from a knight. Not even Oscar, half Hollow as he was, ever acted as brittle and carelessly as you do. Are you even a true knight, Solaire? Or is it just one of your delusions?”

“Why do you insist on saying such things?” Solaire was trembling from head to toe. He took a single step closer to Lautrec, his sword shaking with the uncontrolled tension of his hand. “If you want me to kill you, then just say it and we’ll battle to the death. That’s what you wanted me and Oscar to do, wasn’t it? Bitter discord and senseless violence... that’s all your twisted mind can think of!”

“You, kill me?” Lautrec laughed with a jolliness unussual for him. “You poor and sad little creature. Believe that, if it makes you happy. Now, if you are done venting your anger so unfairly on me, how about you stop acting like a child and listen to what I have to say? Surely even and idiot like you can keep quiet for a few seconds and learn something from a real knight. You should be thankful, Solaire.”

“I’ve got nothing to learn from people like you.”

“What kind of people? The kind of people who tell you the truth?” Lautrec defied luck and approached Solaire.

It was a risky move, but he wasn’t going to let some Astoran think they had intimidated him.

“No wonder you were so fond of Oscar; he was always so condescending, offering you a shoulder to shed your pitiful tears. He indulged in your self-pity, and you liked it. Playing the victim is always much easier than facing reality... but Oscar is dead, so you better open your eyes and start acting like the knight you supposedly are, Solaire.”

“Oscar is not dead! He’ll come back to life, and when he does, he’ll—”

“I don’t want to hear it. I’ve had enough of you.” Lautrec interrupted.

He grabbed Solaire and pushed him violently.

Though Solaire didn’t fall to the floor, his feet stumbled around clumsily before he could regain his balance. He stared at Lautrec with an incredulous look visible behind the slit of his helmet.

“Go on, get out of here.” Lautrec exclaimed with disdain as if Solaire was a mangy dog. “Go and get killed. Go and throw away your useless life. See if I care. Let’s see for how long a cursed man like you can remain alive when confronting a powerful abomination. I’ll just see you die from afar and laugh.”

Solaire remained silent and stiff, as if he had turned into stone.

“You hadn’t even thought about it, had you? You were so immersed in your stupid pain that you didn’t even notice the strong presence that lurks in this same room, nor did you remember that the death the basilisk gave you is not without its consequences. The dullness and weakness you feel, you seriously don’t think they steam solely from your grieving of Oscar, do you? No, Solaire. What consumes your soul is not grief; it is the basilisk’s curse.”

“You’re wrong.” Solaire countered, but he no longer sounded as confident has he had done back in the sewers.

“Am I? Then, how about I prove it to you?” Lautrec wielded his swords. “Let’s fight and see how many attacks it takes me to snuff out your shortened and tainted life. It won’t take long, two strikes of my blades at most.”

Solaire did not move.

Lautrec retained his fighting stance, but once it became clear Solaire would not fight him, he returned his swords to the sheaths on his waist.

“Rats and blobs you may survive, but if you face a truly powerfulr enemy, cursed as you are, you won’t last a minute. Then again, what do I know? I am just a man with a twisted mind that can fathom nothing but violence, after all.” Lautrec folded his arms. “Go, Solaire. Go and do whatever the hell you want. I won’t stop you. Fools like you are a lost cause; it really is a shame Oscar sacrificed his life protecting a miserable weakling like you.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Solaire said without screaming, but his voice still rang strong across the empty and giant room. “This is all my fault, Lautrec. I’ve never denied it. That’s why I must make sure nothing will hurt Oscar again. He can’t die again... He won’t!””

“Spare me the self-pity. It’s as useless as it is disgusting. It may have worked on Oscar, but the Abyss will swallow the entire world before it has any effect on me.” Lautrec dismissed. “Instead of wasting your breath on ridiculous declarations, how about you do something about this pitiful state you are in? You could start with healing your curse. I may have the right thing to help you with that.”

Solaire flinched at the suggestion. He straightened his back and looked away, caught in a silent struggle with himself.

Lautrec didn’t give him time to ponder about it.

Instead, he took from one of his bags a small stone with a skull imprinted on it. He had intended to keep the stone for himself, just in case the worst befell him.

He would have bought more, but the Undead merchant at the burg was a stingy bastard. How that rotten low-life had gotten his hands on the purging stones from his homeland was not something that intrigued Lautrec. 

_I never would have thought I would be giving it to you._

Lautrec approached Solaire and offered the purging stone to him.

He held it with two fingers just in front of Solaire’s helmet.

The Astoran couldn’t move.

“Well? Are you going to take it? Or are you going to lecture me with your holier-than-thou morality, the same way you did with Oscar about his ring of illusion?”

Lautrec grabbed Solaire’s hand.

Solaire dropped his sunlight sword the moment Lautrec’s fingers touched his skin. He offered no resistance when Lautrec raised his hand and made him open it.

Then, he placed the stone on Solaire’s calloused palm.

“It’s your call, Solaire.” Lautrec stated.

He already knew Solaire would refuse.

But in the unlikely scenario that he didn’t—

_Surprise me. Entertain me. It’s the least an Astoran worm can do for a knight of Carim._

Lautrec smiled, for he knew that, even if she was no longer watching over him, Fina would have gazed at his actions and given him her blessing.

His lady always did enjoy a good show.

And so did he.

* * *

The bonfire's flame flickered.

Laurentius sprang back to his feet and prepared himself to welcome Oscar.

He waited, but no one emerged from the fire.

The hapinnes that had illuminated his world vanished, and the guilt that had festered inside him since his revival returned to him in all its gross splendor.

"Oscar." Laurentius said to one, collapsing to his kness and with only the bonfire as his witness. "I'm sorry."

* * *

Slowly, she became aware of her existance.

She was alive.

She lay in front of her usual bonfire, the same where she and her sisters had once sat around together.

Her past felt like a distant dream, and so did her new chance at life.

Mildred remained still, the smell of the swamp filling her nostrils as she wondered why she had come back at all, only to realize that it had not been her choice.

It was simply the Undead's curse.


	36. Dissapointing realities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Thanks to everyone reading/leaving kudos and to Mrs littletall for the comments!
> 
> This chapter is shorter than usual, but I felt it would be too overstuffed otherwise haha. I guess this could be considered the first part of a bigger chapter... I'll try to have the second part ready next week!
> 
> Enjoy!

_A disappointing journey this new life has been._

_The world continues to be sick._

_It is in no better state than it was when we died._

_Linking the flame, what good did it do?_

_The sacrifice of that Aldrich bastard was worthless._

_Abominations, putrid disease, infected landscapes, they all remain._

_When Horace and I awoke and rose from our ashes, a part of me hoped things would be different. I wasn’t expecting a perfect paradise, but I had faith the world would be a better place._

_How foolish I was._

_Perhaps the world cannot be cured at all._

_It is cursed forever, beyond salvation._

_Maybe we are not meant to heal it, and our only mission is to make sure it survives to see another age._

_Another linking of the fire._

_Is that the reason we are alive again?_

_Just to ensure the world continues this endless and meaningless cycle?_

_If this is true, then maybe it would have been better never to have been born at all._

_Horrible and dark thoughts these are._

_I cannot share them with Horace._

_He remains strong, and I must do the same for him._

_My doubts are mine alone; but my hope, what little remains inside me, is Horace’s as well._

_We’ll be reaching the Road of Sacrifices soon. Our journey has not been easy._

_We’ve become separated twice already, but thankfully, that kind-hearted merchant Patches supplied me with some prism stones._

_Elite knights of Astora used to use them as beacons to guide the souls of their fallen comrades back home, or as gravestones when a proper burial was not a viable option._

_At least, that’s what books claim._

_I am glad Horace and I have a less grim use for them. Since childhood, we’ve used them to find our way back to each other. It started as a game among us and the other children. Strange how this childhood pastime became one of our most effective means of survival._

_I like to think of it as a promise between Horace and me, too._

_That no matter what happens or what challenges we may face, we’ll always be together._

_Because it is only when we are together that we are truly home._

_**\- Second entry of Anri of Astora's diary.** _

* * *

“Don’t let your guard down”. Lautrec’s voice was followed by the sharp whistling of his blades. “It’s coming.”

There was no need for his warning.

Solaire already knew.

His mind, though still foggy, had become clear enough for him to sense the creature’s presence.

The aura of a lingering threat stopped being a mere feeling and became audible. The echo of claws scratching stone came from the other side of the chamber, from a wide gap on the floor where the endless flood of water fell into like a waterfall.

Solaire’s body reacted by instinct. Before he knew it, he was wielding his sword and shield.

His knuckles, though no longer broken thanks to Estus, were still swollen and red. They hurt, but it was a pain Solaire could barely feel. Not because it wasn’t strong; his mind simply couldn’t bother to give much importance to it.

It was as if his body was a different entity with a will of his own.

Nothing truly made sense to him other than the upcoming danger.

He knew he should be nervous, perhaps even thrilled at the prospect of a fight, but all he could feel was a void were his heart had once been.

Whether it was a consequence of his grief, or a side effect of the purging stone that now resided inside him, he couldn’t tell.

“Put your mind into the fight.” Lautrec stood next to Solaire, his battling stance firm and ready for whatever monster emerged from the small abyss before them. “Focus, or else you’ll perish like a dog.”

As much as Solaire didn’t want to admit it, Lautrec was right.

There would plenty of time later to ponder on the consequences of his actions, but none of it had place on his mind during a confrontation. It would only be a distraction that could cost him his life.

Solaire doubted he would be able to endure another death without Hollowing. His soul was full of strong Humanity, but it wouldn’t be enough to keep him going.

There was something missing inside him, something that Solaire knew he wouldn’t recover until Oscar returned to his side.

Until then, he couldn’t die. He had to overcome whatever challenges fate threw at him and confront them with bravery.

Such was the way of a knight.

Oscar had believed Solaire was worthy of knighthood.

It was time for Solaire to prove his friend’s hopes were not misplaced.

“I’m ready.” He announced, his shield and sword assuming their rightful positions in front and next to his body, respectively.

His voice had just vanished when their enemy finally emerged.

The thick darkness made it difficult to distinguish the creature’s features, but the little sunlight that pierced the chamber through a crack on a giant wall allowed Solaire to discover one awful truth about his opponent.

It was a dragon.

The scaly and moist skin that reflected the light couldn’t belong to any other beast.

Fear set deeply into Solaire’s soul. The memory of the death granted to him by the Hellkite dragon send a jolt of paralyzing horror across his entire body.

His breath got caught in his throat, his heart began to race as if it wanted to pulverize his ribs.

His dread battled against his numbness and managed to defeat it, and for the first time since his revival, Solaire felt alive. Fear had forced him to remember how strong his instinct of survival still was.

It took gigantic effort to channel his nervousness and transform it into courage and determination. It worked, but not completely, and even after Solaire succeeded in keeping his mind sharp, the horror remained.

“A dragon, that pitiful thing?” Lautrec said. There was mockery and derision in his voice, as if the creature had the intelligence to understand his acidic cruelty. He scoffed and chuckled the same way he had done when insulting Oscar. “A pathetic specimen, a true disgrace to its kind. I’ll put it out of its misery.”

The dragon’s small head, or what Solaire and Lautrec had mistaken it for, rose and became just the tip of the colossal body that emerged from the pit.

The disgusting monster, with a body deformed by endless sharp fangs, let out a deafening growl as its long legs found firm footing on the chamber’s floor. Its four dark wings, wide and strong, send a rush of wind that hit Solaire and Lautrec like a hurricane.

Solaire’s shield protected his torso and helped him keep his balance as the powerful gust crashed against him. His arm trembled and burned with effort to keep his shield in place, but he resisted the attack until the blow of wind finally ceased.

Lautrec was no longer by his side.

Solaire could hear the clanking of his armor behind him.

Lautrec was struggling to get back on his feet. Were their roles inversed, Solaire knew Lautrec would find the time to mock him for his weakness, even as the giant abomination stood right before them.

Yet, despite all Lautrec had done and said, Solaire felt no need to kick him now that the proud knight of Carim was down.

Truth was that, at that moment, Solaire couldn’t care less about Lautrec’s situation.

All that felt real to him was the creature, dragon only in name, that was preparing itself to charge at them with all the strength and speed of its enormous and numerous legs.

The dragon roared again, its fangs twitching like worms. The repulsive mouth that made most of its body spread wide.

The sight was worse than any nightmare Solaire had ever had or could ever fathom, and when the creature began to run towards him like an angry bull, he wondered if such abomination could be real at all.

Columns of stone collapsed as the dragon’s wings hit them. They did nothing to slow down its raging pace.

Solaire moved out of the way, his limbs heavy with fright, but also invigorated by his animal instinct to survive.

He managed to escape the dragon’s attack. The floor trembled as if an earthquake was trying to split the entire place in two. A foul stench filled Solaire’s nostrils; the dragon’s essence transformed the air in what felt was poisonous gas.

There was no escape from it.

Solaire breathed it, aware of the potential harm it could cause him but left with no other choice.

He turned on his heels and faced the dragon. The creature remained still, recovering from its reckless attack, or perhaps surveying the area with its eyeless features in search for its victims.

It was only then that Solaire remembered Lautrec.

There was no trace of him, and for all Solaire knew, his body could be resting, completely destroyed, underneath one of the dragon’s feet.

Solaire’s blood turned to ice.

He had left Lautrec behind, alone and unprotected. There had been no ill-will in his actions, but his indifference towards the knight of Carim struck Solaire like a hammer.

He disliked Lautrec, and at times, that sentiments closely resembled pure hatred, but Solaire never would have wished for him to die a death so ruthless at the hands of a monster.

_All because of me._

“No!” Solaire exclaimed, his thunderous voice leaving his throat feeling raw. He rushed at the dragon with his sword in hand and delivered a blow directly at one of its legs.

The blade pierced the scales and reached the bone, cracking it, just as it had done with the knight of thorns’ hips as he had tried to escape after killing Oscar.

The memory of Oscar’s limp body on his arms was like a shrouding dark cloud that invaded Solaire's mind

He wanted to cry and finally allow the overflowing pain raging inside him an outlet, but he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

His stored grief turned to wrath, and it manifested in the form of a brutal bloodthirst that reduced Solaire’s world to a single purpose.

“I’ll kill you!”

His blood rushed through his body, feeding his muscles with merciless strength.

The dragon roared as Solaire removed his sword from its leg, taking with it chunks of broken meat and bone.

As the dragon’s blood stained his tattered tunic, the enemy Solaire was attacking stopped being an abomination to his eyes and transformed into a human being.

The man-eating woman that had tricked him.

Then, it became the knight of thorns that had killed Oscar.

“I’ll kill you!” Solaire lunged his sword down with all the power of his arms, his tense muscles bulging against his chainmail.

His sword landed on the same spot it had done before. The dragon roared in agony as the bone of its leg was getting shattered.

The beast’s cry broke Solaire’s illusion, and the knight of thorns he had been about to decapitate faded from his mind, leaving a bleeding and scaly leg to take his place.

Disappointment struck Solaire, but he didn’t allow it to distract him for long.

The opponent before him may not be either of the murderers he hated with all his being, but he would kill it anyways. That godforsaken dragon had dared to stand on his way, and were Oscar alive, it would have tried to hurt him too.

That was reason enough for Solaire to despise it and wish it death.

“You won’t hurt my friend!” Solaire exclaimed as he prepared another attack.

The dragon managed to evade it with an agility that did not match it size. It lunged upwards, rising so high that it almost crashed against the chamber’s roof.

The small second it remained frozen in midair was all the time Solaire had to move out of the way and avoid being crushed. He kept Lautrec on his mind, and a part of him wished to go back and help him, but it would be in vain.

To do so would only mean death for both of them, if Lautrec was still alive at all.

Anger and adrenaline beat savagely in Solaire’s chest.

The dragon’s body shattered the air around it as it came crashing down. The impact broke every tile underneath it and send a shockwave that shook the entire floor. The force was so great that Solaire thought the entire depths would collapse above them and bury them.

He tried to keep his footing, but there was no way to keep his balance when the floor underneath him trembled out of control. He fell on his side, his helmet hitting the ground with a loud clank that couldn’t be heard thanks to the dragon’s cries.

Solaire held the hilt of his sword and used his weapon as support to get back on his feet as soon as he could. He did so quickly, but the dragon showed him no mercy and was already charging at him again.

The memory of his lost miracles stung more than ever.

His Sunlight Spears would have aided him greatly, allowing him to severely damage the creature from a safe distance.

Solaire mourned their loss for a fleeting moment; the idea of attempting to cast a spear crossed his mind but he ignored it immediately.

His miracles were still weak, pathetically so.

And now that a cursed stone existed within his being, Solaire knew they were forever out of his reach.

He had failed his covenant.

He had failed the Lord of Sunlight.

He was no longer a Warrior of Sunlight.

But he had done so to continue living and make sure Oscar returned to a more peaceful place.

He had done it so that he could be alive when Oscar came back.

And yet, there was regret in what he had done, and also a sense of loss so great that Solaire had thought it would make him go Hollow the moment he had swallowed the cursed stone Lautrec had offered him.

_Oscar._

Solaire stood up, feeling his body limp, devoid of any spirit or life.

The dragon tried to devour him by lunging its entire mouth at him. Solaire evaded it, more as a reflex than a conscious action.

The dragon hit the floor, its twitching fangs getting trapped on the stone. As it tried to break free, Solaire’s mind continued to wander amidst hopelessness. The Darksign on his chest hurt as if a giant metal arrow had stuck him.

_Oscar._

Solaire looked at the beast, his eyes and mouth dry.

_You are still fighting, aren’t you? You are fighting to come back to life._

Struggling with his own doubts and managing to silence them, Solaire attacked the dragon, this time aiming at an exposed spot on the beast’s belly.

_I have no evidence of it, but neither I have any doubts that you haven’t given up. You promised me, and I promised you too._

Solaire sank the entire blade of his sword into the dragon and removed it with a vertical slash, sending out a gush of warm blood that soaked his arms and chest.

_You’ll come back to me. That’s why I’ll keep fighting, even now that I feel I’ve lost everything._

The dragon reacted not with a roar, but with a swing of its arms that took Solaire off guard. The slender but strong fingers of the dragon closed around Solaire in a crushing grip that left him breathless.

His shield and sword escaped his hands as the dragon lifted him from the floor. It raised him as high as its arm allowed.

As he was held right above the dragon’s gigantic mouth, Solaire kept struggling to break free, uncaring of the abyss of sharp fangs that spread under him, ready to receive him and reduce his body to bloody shreds.

_I’ll keep fighting, Oscar._

The dragon let him go.

_That is the way of a knight of Astora._

Solaire thought as he plummeted closer and closer to the creature’s mouth.

* * *

In that absolute darkness where nothing seemed to truly exist, it was easy to lose one’s sense of self.

The peace of it was also enchanting in an ominous manner Oscar couldn’t ignore.

It certainly wasn’t beautiful, but it was calming and comforting, like a dreamless sleep.

It was nothing, and it was perfect.

But he didn’t belong there.

As alluring as it was, Oscar knew his place was not in that dark abyss, but back in Lordran.

Back in the world of the living.

He had to go back, and so he kept struggling to escape that fetid cave where he was trapped.

“Why do you want to leave?”

The Chosen Undead, who had remained quiet for too long, asked with a pain they didn’t bother to mask.

“Why do you not want to stay with me?”

Oscar stopped his attempts at making the solid wall of the cave budge and looked at the direction where his friend’s voice had come from.

A bony hand held his own.

“Chosen Undead.”

Oscar had yet not come to terms that his friend had entered his life once more. When he had gathered enough self-awareness to come to terms with his most recent death, Oscar had wept at the realization that the creature holding him was no other than the Chosen Undead.

He had hold them back in return for a long while, a mixture of joy and shame boiling inside his chest.

He had apologized countless of times for all the awful things he had done and said to them, but the Chosen Undead had not replied to his words at all. They simply kept holding him close to them, as if wanting them both to melt together into a single being.

It hadn’t taken long before the embrace became overwhelming and Oscar had tried to break apart from it, but the Chosen Undead had now allowed it.

Only when Oscar’s struggles became truly forceful did the Chosen Undead let him go.

More than breaking free, Oscar felt the Chosen Undead had merely released him because his refusal to let go of life shocked them.

Now that the Chosen Undead had talked to him and had asked for an answer, Oscar could finally talk to his friend, the same way they had briefly done back the Undead Asylum.

“Do you hate me?” The Chosen Undead inquired in a whisper. “For stabbing you... for all the pain I’ve caused you.”

Oscar sought for the Chosen Undead’s other hand. He found it amidst the darkness and held it gently. He guided it until it rested on top of his belly, right above the scar the coiled sword had left on his body.

“I could never hate you. My friend, you saved my life. You gave me a second chance, even when I did not deserve your sacrifice in the slightest.” Oscar fell his voice quiver inside his throat. He took a moment to calm himself before he could continue. “You saved me from my Hollowing.”

“And don’t you hate me for it?” The Chosen Undead interrupted him, baffled. “How can you not hate me for chaining you to life and make you go through so much pain? I can feel it, Oscar. Your pain. The same pain I cursed you with when I saved your life.”

They were so mortified about the matter that Oscar didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t understand how could the Chosen Undead think the gift they had given him was a curse he resented.

All the guilt stored inside him, no matter how scarred, bled freely from his soul like reopened wounds.

“There has been pain.” Oscar spoke for the sake of the Chosen Undead, in a desperate attempt to free them from their unfounded guilt. Oscar deserved every ounce of it, but the Chosen Undead did not. “A lot of it, but I don’t regret going through it, not when I’ve also found happiness and purpose in this life you gifted me.”

“No.” The Chosen Undead claimed, retracting their hands away from Oscar. “I don’t believe you.”

“What I’m saying is true.” Oscar replied, louder this time, and with more confidence.

“There’s no happiness to be found in that life. I know it better than anyone. You are kind of heart, and so you lie to me to make me feel better, but I can see through it. What you are saying it’s all just a well-intended lie from a friend.”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe me? The life I’ve lived after what happened at the Asylum has not been easy. It’s been a constant challenge, and every step I take is filled with doubts and festering guilt for what I did to you. And yet, I treasure it, Whether you believe me or not, I treasure it, Chosen Undead”

Shame halted his tongue and glued it to his palate.

The memories of all the time he had spent pitying himself in Firelink Shrine, cruelly ignoring Solaire’s kindness and spitefully resenting the Chosen Undead, came back to him so vividly that Oscar could have sworn he was back to that earthly sanctuary.

His illusion was destroyed when the darkness surrounding him never dissipated and the Chosen Undead spoke to him again.

“Chosen Undead.” They repeated, a faint chuckle rumbling in their throat. “I had almost forgotten this name you gave to me. I am fond of it... but I don’t deserve it. Oscar, my life was a waste. I never did anything that made me worthy of such title, even less when it means so much to so many people, especially to you. I am not the Chosen Undead; I’m merely some lowly, nameless Hollow that rotted away in a cell from time immemorial, nothing more.”

“You saved me. You could have left me to die at the Asylum, but you came back and helped me. I said and did so many horrible things... and yet, you still helped me. Me, the envious and selfish knight that shattered your world.”

His chest hurt so badly that Oscar could barely speak.

“To me, you will always be the Chosen Undead. Maybe if fate had taken a fairer course, it would have been me who died and you who lived. You deserve to live... you deserve much more than what the world ever gave to you.”

_Much more than what I did to you._

“Live?” The Chosen Undead repeated, as if not understanding what Oscar was saying. They lay down on the fleshy surface of the cave. Oscar couldn’t see them, but he heard how their body moved in the darkness. “What for? What’s left for me back there? A rotting cell, another death? ”

Their tone was almost more than what Oscar could bear.

“You could search for a meaning, a purpose.” He replied, longing to lay next to his friend, but scared he would never get back up if he did. “And I'll be there to help you find it. I promise.”

The Chosen Undead remained silent for a long time.

“I don’t think...” they finally said, their shaking voice lower than a whisper, “that I can.”

“Chosen Undead.” Gathering all his courage, Oscar dared to look again for their hand. He found it, but they turned away from him before he could hold it.

“Don’t call me that. I am not the Chosen Undead. I’m just a Hollow.”

Oscar tried to reach them again, but his friend did not respond. It was as if they had escaped far away from him, to a place where he couldn’t follow.

* * *

_Precisely_

Kaathe agreed.

The distress of the Astoran knight soured his mouth.

Kaathe thought of spitting him out, but he decided against it.

If he did, the little Hollow could lose their sanity.

And that would be a tremendous waste.

_Humans._

He thought with impatience, but not without a faint semblance of pity.

_How fragile you all are._


	37. Faith and Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup, guys. I hope you are all doing fine!
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading/ leving kudos! And thanks to Mrs Littletall for the comments!! 
> 
> Another angsty chapter... what a twist haha.
> 
> Enjoy!

Oscar’s silence was unsettling. He lay close to them.

He had no other choice, given the small space the serpent’s mouth offered. Yet, he refused to acknowledge the Hollow in any way.

That simple act hurt them deeply. The Hollow felt tempted to stretch out their hand and search for Oscar’s, but they couldn’t bring themselves to do it.

The gesture, as good-natured as it could be, would not feel natural or appropriate.

Their reunion with Oscar had brought the Hollow intense happiness. One that was, sadly, short-lived, and all that remained between them and their friend was an unresolved tension that made them both miserable.

It didn’t need to be so; the Hollow knew it.

If only Oscar could stop pretending, everything would be perfect.

They couldn’t allow their treasured friend to continue deluding himself. Oscar needed their guidance.

He had not abandoned them back at the Asylum, even when everything seemed lost.

They wouldn’t abandon him now.

“Are you alright?” The Hollow ventured, their voice only a feeble and shy thing. “Oscar?”

The silence that followed felt eternal and dreadful.

_“Get a hold of your emotions before you turn my tongue to ashes with your sourness! And tell your friend to do the same, or else I’ll spit him out. He tastes almost as bitter as you.”_

_“If you spit him out, I’ll leave. I do not wish for it, but I will not stay behind with you if you dare to betray me. Take Oscar away from me and I will leave you, and you shall never see me again.”_

_“Is that a threat? I don’t know whether to feel amused by your gall or offended by your impertinence. I think that, in the end, I feel sorry for your stupidity. If I spit you both out, the knight will return to life. He would leave for a place where you cannot follow. Your bonfire was destroyed, little Hollow. Don’t you remember? You have no place to return to. You are stuck in this Abyss forever.”_

_“That may be, but it doesn’t mean I have to be stuck with you. You need me more than I need you, serpent. Do you think I dread the eternal darkness of this place? Don’t make me laugh. I could wander it for all eternity and do it happily. I do not fear it, and neither do I fear you.”_

_“How the ignorant speak so freely of things they don’t understand. You know not what you are saying, little Hollow. You think you know solitude, but you cannot fathom the true meaning of your foolish words. I forgive you this time, for it is obvious how limited your understanding of the Abyss truly is. I shall pretend this exchange never occurred, but I do ask of you to keep that Astoran knight under control, both regarding his emotions and his fists. I have sensitive teeth, you know?”_

“Undead?”

Oscar’s voice reached them as soon as Kaathe’s vanished.

The Hollow stiffened in nervousness.

“Don’t listen to him.” They quickly reassured Oscar. “He doesn’t mean it. He is just a big, stupid worm.”

“Him? Who are you talking about?”

“You mean... you didn’t hear us?”

“No.” Oscar made a long pause. His concern was palpable even in his silence. “I’ve been calling you out, but you never answered. Not until now.”

“I see.” The Hollow chided themselves for their stupidity. They expected Kaathe to mock them too, but the serpent remained quiet.

“Chosen Undead.” Oscar stopped for a moment. “Undead, who is this _‘he’_ you are talking about? Is _he_ the same creature that keeps us captive?”

The Hollow turned around and faced the direction where Oscar’s voice came from. They couldn’t see him, but knowing that Oscar was there with them was enough to bring peace to their soul.

“You are quite perceptive.” They stated fondly. “As expected from an elite knight of Astora. I don’t think I ever went to that place; and if I did, I don’t remember.”

Oscar didn’t reply. 

That was fine for the Hollow.

“Can you tell me about it? I would like to hear more about your homeland.”

“You already know a bit about Astora. You recognized me as an elite knight before I even told you my name and my rank, remember?”

“I did?”

“Yes. And you also seemed to believe Astora has low standards when it comes to choosing its knights. Of course, you only said so to trick me into drinking some Estus, but the jab still stung.”

Oscar chuckled, but for the Hollow, the memory was anything but amusing.

If they forced their mind, they could remember the scene clearly.

How much they had hated Oscar at first.

How much they had enjoyed their rough and petty treatment of him.

It was shameful.

“All I said and did... I didn’t mean it, none of it.” It was a pathetic excuse for an apology. They wanted to elaborate, but they feared breaking the brittle calmness between them and Oscar.

“Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t as if I didn’t deserve it, or as if it weren’t true. I am not worthy of being an elite knight of Astora.” Oscar said, unaware of how painful it was for the Hollow to listen to those words. “I wonder if I ever was. The Hollowing took many of my memories, but the ones I still have left tell me very little of what deeds made me worthy of such title. My talent, my worth as a knight, as a human being, they do not match the arrogance I once had. The arrogance I still have.”

“You are worthy of it, Oscar. To me, you will always be worthy of the title you had in your homeland and of being the true Chosen Undead of the prophecy. I do not know who you used to be back in Astora; to be honest, I don’t know you too well. Our time together was short and chaotic, but it was enough for me to know the kind of person you truly are.”

“I tried to kill you.” Oscar spoke so lowly that the Hollow could only hear him because of the absolute silence that surrounded them.

“So did I.” They replied, the guilt inside them setting in their heart like an anchor.

“You helped me. You saved me.” Oscar continued, either ignoring or not hearing the Hollow’s statement. “And I all I did in return was trying kill you. That’s the kind of man I am.”

The Hollow felt Oscar’s despair and anguish as if they were their own.

“But you didn’t.” They said, their voice broken and soft. “You stopped. You helped me see reason again, lost in my anger and despair as I was. I had hurt you, and yet, you still found it in your heart to talk to me. You were even willing to give up your life to save me. Me, the rotten Hollow that attacked you. Oscar, you are wrong. You did so much more for me.”

They stretched the same arm the Hollows had ripped apart from their body and devoured. It wasn’t until Oscar’s arrival that they became aware it had been restored.

They found Oscar’s hand and held it tightly. To their surprise and their relief, Oscar did not pull away. He welcomed the gesture, closing his fingers around their wrinkled and leathery hand.

“You freed me. You gave me your Estus flask and your key. You protected me when a shower of arrows came flying down on us. You fought the Hollows that tried to pull me away from you. You fed me what was left of your Estus. You almost sacrificed yourself to ensure I escaped. Why do you choose not to remember any of this?” They asked. “Why are you so set on thinking of yourself as a monster?”

“Because I am.” Oscar answered, his effort to speak evident in his tense tone. “After what I did, and what I would have done had you survived, I have no right to think otherwise. I would have fought you, oppose you, and done everything in my power to prove I am the true Chosen Undead. I promised myself I would try to be your ally, your friend; but –”

“But none of that happened, so stop punishing yourself for a betrayal that never occurred and never will.” The Hollow raised their voice. “What we did to each other back at the Asylum, a lot of it wasn’t right. We were foolish, selfish and cruel. Maybe we have no excuse for it, but I don’t hold any of it against you. I forgive you, Oscar. I forgave you so long ago that I can barely remember the moments when I senselessly resented you. Please, forgive yourself too.”

“It can’t be that easy.” Oscar removed his hand from theirs. By the sounds of his movements, the Hollow knew he had straightened his back. They did the same. “I cannot continue accepting forgiveness given to me so easily, especially not from the friends that saved my life.”

“Friends? Yes, you claimed there was someone else who needed you.” The Hollow said. “I don’t know that other friend of yours, but if you wronged them in any way and they forgave you, just like I did, then I doubt they think you need to punish yourself anymore. Don’t hurt yourself like this, Oscar. It is not necessary. It never was.”

“You are a dolt.” Oscar found their hand again and held it with both of his hands. He raised it, pressed it again his forehead and held it there. His grip was shaky and strong, but not uncomfortable. The Hollow even dared to say it was the gentlest sensation they had felt in their entire existence. “A hopeless, selfless dolt. A kindhearted, airheaded fool that likes to collect pebbles and trash from the floor.”

“I never claimed to be anything else.” The Hollow replied, a faint smile painted on their lips. “And you are a stubborn, brave knight that feels too much but says too little.”

“Such is the way of an elite knight of Astora. I lived so long shaping myself according that philosophy, that I can’t shed it from my being, no matter how much I try. It’s not a life for everybody... it is a sacrifice we make to allow others the luxury of being vulnerable. That’s why I am glad Solaire—”

Oscar’s voice stopped so abruptly that the Hollow feared something bad had happened to their friend. They felt a twinge of hatred toward Kaathe. They were sure that the serpent had done something horrible to Oscar.

They were about to openly confront the serpent when Oscar let go of their hand and gasped as if he had been about to drown.

“Solaire.”

_“Little Hollow, I beseech you, calm that Astoran knight down! His emotions are making my tongue go numb.”_

“Who’s Solaire?” The Hollowed asked urgently. “Did he hurt you? Was he the one that killed you? It’s alright, Oscar. He cannot harm you here.”

The Hollow lunged themselves forward, their arms finding Oscar as easily as if there was a light in that darkness to guide them.

“I’m with you.” The Hollow muttered, pressing Oscar closer to themselves. “As long as you remain here, you will be safe.”

“No.” Oscar said. Gently but firmly, he pushed them away. “I cannot—I can’t stay here. I must go back.

“You mustn’t!” The Hollow roared, slamming Oscar against the fleshy surface of Kaathe’s mouth.

The serpent emitted a grunt of discomfort, but the Hollow paid no mind to it. All their strength and energy were dedicated on snapping Oscar out of their delusion once and for all. They hated themselves for treating him so harshly, but they did not regret it.

They would do anything to keep Oscar safe and by their side.

“You’ve already proven yourself, Oscar. You are worthy of any fate you could have wished for in life. In my eyes, you are a hero, the true Chosen Undead. There’s no need for you to go back. What would you gain if you did? The world is ugly, wicked and hopeless. There’s nothing of worth back there. You know this.” Gently, they pressed their forehead against Oscar’s. “It’s alright, you don’t need to pretend anymore. You can let go. You can stop.”

“Undead.”

“Let’s just stop.”

They heard how a drowned sob escaped Oscar, and they knew they had succeeded. Oscar had finally opened his eyes.

“I can’t stay here.” Oscar’s betrayal came in the form of another push. It wasn’t strong, just barely capable of making the Hollow back away, but for them, it hurt more than when their fellow Hollows had ripped their arm off. “I still have my own purpose. I have someone that needs me, someone I made a promise to. I can’t abandon him now.”

“Who is this _he_?” The Hollow demanded, a boiling fury searing their soul. “Is _he_ the friend you so much cherish? The one that keeps you from accepting the peace I offer you?”

The Hollow clenched their hands.

“Is he Solaire?”

The hatred they felt for that faceless figure would have surprised them if they weren’t so immersed in their own anger.

“If he dies and he stays here with us, will that be enough for you?” The Hollow continued, relentlessly and without giving any thought to what Oscar could say or feel. “Then I hope he fails in life and finds death soon. Once he does, I’ll—”

_“Stop right there, little Hollow! Don’t even think about it. My mouth is not some room where you can fit all of your friends! I made an exception for that Astoran knight, but that’s it. No other wandering soul shall find refuge within me.”_

Kaathe’s complaint did not pass unheard by the Hollow, but it became meaningless against Oscar’s claim that came at the same time.

“Don’t you dare say a word more.” It wasn’t the first time Oscar spoke to the Hollow menacingly; but unlike those other occasions back at the Asylum, the Hollow felt truly threatened, and above all, disappointed. “How can you even think of saying such things? This is not like you. The Undead I met at the Asylum—”

“Died at the hands of Hollows. I am not them anymore. I am a Hollow now, Oscar; and above all, I am your friend. And if to make you see reason I must say or do things that will make you resent me, so be it. I don’t care, not as long as I ensure you are safe. Not as long you remain here with me.”

“You don’t believe that.” Oscar countered, as enraged and defiant as the Hollow. “This place... it has affected your mind. I won’t let it hurt you any longer.”

Oscar moved again. The Hollow heard the rustling murmurs of Oscar’s hands as he searched for the tough surface of Kaathe’s teeth.

Without warning, he began to punch them, trying desperately to break them and find a way out.

“I’ll get us out of here.” Oscar declared, not a trace of fear our doubt in his voice. “This time, we are both making it out alive. You have my word, my friend.”

_“Hey, that hurts! He is really getting on my nerves, little Hollow. You are lucky we serpents, unlike you humans, know the true meaning of patience. You better be worth all this trouble.”_

Kaathe remained ignored. The Hollow felt his annoyance, but it was only a little speck compared to their own frustration.

“You won’t succeed.” They hissed bitterly. “You will change nothing. Do you hear me, Oscar? We will never leave this place.”

Oscar didn’t answer. He kept going with his efforts to make Kaathe open his mouth.

_You godforsaken knight of Astora!_

The Undead drew breath to yell the poisonous jab at Oscar.

They couldn’t.

They remained silent, cursing their anger for manifesting in the shape of tears.

* * *

Every breath he took burned his chest and stomach.

Most of his ribs were broken, perhaps all of them.

The rest of his body fared no better.

His armor and helmet had saved his life, but no amount of protection could have saved him from the brutal impact of the dragon’s body.

As if being caught off guard by the gust of wind of the beast’s wings hadn’t been humiliating enough, Lautrec had been forced to endure another trial of shame when, unable to fully evade the dragon’s attack, he had been sent flying across the room.

A wall of stone had stopped him. Were it not for his armor, his spine would have broken in half like a dry twig, and his skull would have exploded into a gory mess of blood and splattered brains.

_Pathetic._

The voice echoed in his head.

_What a useless, worthless knight you are._

Lautrec trembled, the muscles of his neck tensing as he struggled to keep any grunt of agony from escaping his lips. With great effort, he forced his hand inside one of his bags.

_Just a man that can’t live up to his arrogance._

Lautrec’s breathing quickened as he raised his Estus flask to his mouth.

_A knight that can never make his lady proud._

“Fina.”

When the recipient finally touched his lips, Lautrec swallowed the elixir and emptied the bottle in the matter of a few sips.

“Fina.” He said again, getting all his weight on his knees. “My lady.”

_You are weak._

“No.”

_You have failed, like you always do._

“No!” Blinded by rage, Lautrec forced his body back on his feet. Estus had not yet healed his wounds completely, but he didn’t care. He endured the pain of his still broken bones and ripped muscles without complaint, as was expected from a knight of Carim.

_A knight of Carim? You, who has lost his lady not once, but twice?_

“I will not be defeated. Not ever again!” Lautrec claimed loudly. His voice resonated across the room, but it was silenced by the dragon’s roars

The grotesque creature paid him no mind. All its attention was fixed on Solaire.

That was another stab, another blow to Lautrec’s dignity and honor.

How dared that monstrosity ignore him?

How dared it think that a lowly Astoran, the idiotic and talentless Solaire, was a worthier enemy than Lautrec the Embraced?

He would not allow it.

Not for Fina’s sake nor his own.

_Watch me, my lady._

Lautrec rushed toward the dragon. He picked up one of his swords along the way. He did not stop to look for the other; he didn’t need it.

One sword would be more than enough for him to put an end to that disgusting beast.

_Watch your knight as he proves he is worthy of you._

With a deafening battle cry that filled his soul with the thrill of battle, Lautrec took out a firebomb and threw it at the dragon. The projectile wouldn’t do much harm to the beast, but it would make it acknowledge Lautrec’s existence once and for all.

The bomb exploded as soon as it touched the dragon’s scales. It ignited a cloud of fire that scorched one of the sides of its enormous mouth. The fire faded promptly, but the damaged it had inflicted on the creature proved to be more severe than what Lautrec had thought, enough to make the dragon roar in pain.

The floor trembled underneath Lautrec as the dragon moved its legs and faced him. Dangerously close to one of the dragon’s claws, laying stiff like a corpse, was Solaire.

How he had gotten there, Lautrec did not know, and he didn’t care, just like he didn’t care if the Astoran was still alive.

_If you still live, then stay out of this fight, you fool. Stay back and watch._

With his spirits lifted at the sight of Solaire’s defeat, Lautrec prepared himself for his battle against the dragon. The monster charged at him in a furious frenzy that shook Lautrec’s entire world.

He focused, and with nimble dodge, he successfully evaded the attack.

From the corner of his eye, he looked at Solaire again. The Astoran, now resting pitifully on his knees, was struggling to catch his breath.

Lautrec smiled under his helmet.

_Watch as a true knight dispatches the enemy you couldn’t defeat._

He rushed to the fight.

He was already holding another firebomb on his free hand.

And to think he had thought the bombs would not be too useful against enemies, even less against stronger foes.

For once in his life, Lautrec was glad he had been wrong.

* * *

Through the hardest times of his life, faith had been the only thing keeping him going. No matter what tragedy befell him, Solaire knew the sun would always rise again and extinguish the shadows.

It was, in many occasions, a blind belief, just hope without fundaments.

Still, he had always persevered. He had always believed fate would smile at him as long as he kept his faith unwavering. The Lord of Sunlight would be there to guide him, as long as he had faith in him and his covenant.

Lordran had rusted that faith, but it had never disappeared completely from Solaire’s heart.

Not until that moment, as he lay defeated on his knees, with the cold dampness of the chamber’s floor leaking into his chainmail.

The idea of being alive felt strange and unnatural at first. When Solaire had landed on the dragon’s demonic sea of fangs, he had lost all hope.

He had surrendered to death, as if the faith that had once beat so strongly inside his chest had never existed at all.

Then, just as dozens of fangs were starting to close around him, an explosion had forced the dragon to spread its mouth into a deafening roar. Released like a piece of half-chewed meat, Solaire had fallen to the floor.

He landed on his chest, meeting the floor with an unceremonious slam that passed unheard by the dragon.

His entire body, even the parts most heavily protected by his plates and chainmail, prickled and bled from the piercing wounds the dragon’s fangs had left him with. His injuries were not deep enough to be lethal, but they had greatly diminished his energy.

The dragon’s drool covered his bleeding flesh. It burned like hot resin that had been poured on his wounds to cauterize them.

The pain was almost overwhelming, but it was also a reminder that he was still alive.

But there was also something else that kept Solaire too aware of his existence.

And it wasn’t faith.

His faith had done nothing to save him from his predicament.

_Faith would not have saved me from that monster._

Disappointment and anger numbed Solaire’s body. He removed his helmet and discarded it with a careless swing of his hand. Then, he covered his face with one hand.

He was shaking. His jaw was so tense that the gnashing of his teeth overcame the throbbing heartbeat in his ears.

His many injuries stung all at once, as if ignited by the heat of his own fury.

A grunt rumbled deeply inside his chest.

_If it wasn’t for that cursed stone, I would have died._

In the end, Lautrec had been right. If Solaire had followed his ideals, he would have perished as soon as he had landed on the dragon’s mouth.

His fingers twisted. His nails scratched his cheeks. Solaire felt as if his chest would burst open and all his anger would break free, but it didn’t.

It remained inside him, blazing his nerves and festering inside his heart.

He remembered Oscar, though he had never truly stopped thinking about him.

He remembered how his friend had told him that one’s worth and faith were the same, and how their power could only be known when tested in the direst of circumstances.

If what Oscar had said was true, Solaire could only reach one conclusion.

_I’m worthless._

He had failed to save the crestfallen warrior.

He had almost gone Hollow, overwhelmed by the scars of his past that had never truly healed.

He had gotten himself foolishly injured by the Hellkite dragon.

He had failed to protect Oscar from the knight of thorns, just like he had failed to prove his worth to his fellow Astoran knights.

His life, both as a living human being and an Undead, was nothing but a compilation of failures; the meaningless chronicles of a ridiculous and deluded fool.

Solaire knew better than to blame the universe and fate for his own incompetence, but it didn’t stop him from hating the world; the same world that had seldom rewarded his faith and seemed to thrive only in violence and cruelty.

The world that had allowed Oscar to die.

_I’ll kill you._

Solaire reached for his Estus flask and drank it whole. He was so overtaken by wrath that he barely had the mind to put the empty bottle back inside the safety of his bag.

He stood up.

His steps were long and firm.

Solaire found his sword and shield. They were damaged, almost completely worn out by the dragon’s acidic drool.

They would be useless in battle.

_I’ll kill you all._

Unconsciously, his hand grabbed the talisman hanging limply against his waist, firmly held by his belt.

_I’ll make you pay for what you’ve done!_

He raised the talisman and pressed it close to his mouth. He began to chant the tale that would enable the miracle, but he did so without faith or pride.

All Solaire felt for Gwyn and his wayward son, the god he had admired for most of his life, was hatred.

His sentiment wasn’t exclusive for the gods.

At that moment, there wasn’t a single thing Solaire didn’t hate.

“You will die!” Solaire exclaimed as the memories of the man-eating woman and the knight of thorns became one with the gaping dragon.

The bitterness of his failures and the pain of his loss fed his bloodlust.

He canalized all his power and raging emotions into the casting of a Lighting Spear, but no divine energy surrounded his hand.

It was as if the Lord of Sunlight had sensed his resentment and had forsaken him.

_I was always loyal to you. Being your follower always filled me with pride, even when I was mocked by everyone around me because of it. Why do you abandon me now?_

Solaire’s sight became distorted by his own uncontrolled pulse.

_Why are the gods never there for us when we need them the most?!_

“I won’t be defeated.” Solaire stuttered as his jaw trembled with unleashed pressured. His knuckles turned white as his grip on his talisman tightened, wrinkling it beyond recognition. “I will kill this beast with my bare hands if I have to!”

The two culprits responsible for Oscar’s death manifested before him, and Solaire did not stop to think if they were real or just a trick of his fevering mind.

“I will destroy you.”

A jolting and yellowish energy coated his hand. By instinct, Solaire shaped it with his fingers into the form a spear. It was not a cheap imitation or a failed attempt.

What he held in his palm was the same miracle he had once mastered with ease.

Yet, there was something different about it.

To Solaire, it didn’t matter. As long as the miracle was powerful enough to destroy the two figures in front of him, he couldn’t care less about the anomality in the spear.

He screamed and hurled the mystic projectile. It passed through the man-eating woman and the knight of thorns with ease.

The silhouettes vanished.

Though they had been Solaire’s intended objective, the Lightning Spear found a more tangible and real victim in the dragon. It hit it right in an exposed gap on its stomach, between two of its hinder legs.

The cry of the dragon was unlike any other sound it had produced. It was a chilling melody that had no effect on Solaire.

There was no fear nor pity in his heart for the dragon, and no sooner had the spear created a bleeding hole on the dragon’s belly than another lighting miracle surrounded Solaire’s hand.

The essence was as heavy as lead and burned like fire. It seared Solaire’s hand, but he accepted it.

He could cast powerful miracles and kill the beast before him; nothing else mattered.

A second spear crashed against the dragon before it had time to recover from the first attack. It hit it in the corner of its mouth, snapping some of its fangs from its rotten gum.

Then came a third spear. This one destroyed one of the dragon’s arms, scorching it until only carbonized flesh remained.

A fourth spear set one of its wings on fire. It spread quickly to the closest wing, and soon the dragon found no escape from the hungry flames that consumed its scales.

“Die!”

Lighting Spears kept landing on the dragon like a storm.

“Die, die, die!”

Solaire wouldn’t stop, not until he made sure there was no trace left of the dragon’s grotesque existence,

Drunk by his need to obliterate, Solaire surrendered himself to violence. It was a new and strange feeling.

A delirium more proper of a god of war than a man.

* * *

The dragon’s gush of acidic vomit had laid to waste his sword. It had been only by chance that the torrent of corrosive vomit hadn’t melted Lautrec’s entire body.

The strange and dangerous liquid had flowed from the dragon’s mouth and spread across a generous portion of the chamber. It had chased Lautrec down as if it had a mind of its own.

Lautrec had managed to escape it, but his sword had paid the consequence of the attack. With the blade blunt and rusted almost to the point of breaking, Lautrec was left with no means of fighting. His firebombs had long run out, and his missing sword remained lost somewhere among the rubble.

Even then, defenseless and unarmed as he was, Lautrec had not surrendered. He would never stop fighting, and he would face the dragon only with his hands if he had to.

Just when he had accepted his fate, a Lighting Spear had crashed against the dragon’s belly. It had been only the first in a shower of lighting spears that had assaulted the beast mercilessly.

Lautrec had remained paralyzed where he stood, baffled at first by the twist the battle had taken. He snapped out of his trance once his mind realized the implications of what was happening.

He turned his gaze to Solaire. The bright light produced by the torrent of powerful miracles hid Solaire’s body in a blinding luminescence. All Lautrec could see was Solaire’s faint silhouette.

“Damn you.” He exclaimed, unable to restrain his frustration. “That monster is mine. Don’t you dare interfere!”

His voice was reduced to nothing by the thunderous echoes of Solaire’s spears as they continued hitting the dragon’s scales.

“Stop!” Lautrec took a step closer to the Astoran. A wayward spear landed dangerously close to his feet. Its contained power blinded Lautrec briefly and made him fall on his back.

He did not try to approach Solaire again.

To do so would have been a death sentence. The Astoran was so caught in his frenzy that he would not differentiate between ally and foe, and as much as Lautrec hated to admit it, he knew a single strike of one of those Lighting Spears could be lethal.

Forced to remain away from the battle, Lautrec’s mind was allowed the time necessary to calm down and wholly understand what was happening.

The first thing that stood out as odd were the spears themselves. They shone almost golden and struck with a force that Lautrec had not witnessed before.

Their overwhelming strength was horrifying, and it drove Lautrec to feel the smallest speck of respect for Solaire.

It was a respect that couldn’t fully manifest, for as much as Lautrec was in awe by Solaire’s raw power, it was also obvious how little control he had over it. What drove the Astoran to attack and annihilate the dragon, if his chaotic miracles were any evidence, was an almost animal bloodlust.

There was little refinement in it.

And yet, Lautrec couldn’t suppress a smile as he witnessed the destructive performance.

When the dragon finally fell, Lautrec made sure to remember every movement of its gigantic body as it collapsed to the floor.

The battle was over, but it was not enough for Solaire, who kept hurling spears at the abomination like a mindless savage. By the time he stopped, the only thing that remained of the dragon were scorched remnants that held little resemblance to the original being.

Before it faded into nothingness, the dragon let out one final sound. All of its shattered fangs fell from its gums, then its destroyed mouth closed one last time. The only proof of existence it left of its passing through the world were deep scars on the stone floor and some destroyed columns.

The corrosive vomit disappeared together with the dragon, and on the now clear floor Lautrec could see another of the creature’s mementos.

He approached it slowly, his pacing hindered by a limp. He couldn’t completely hide it, and to counter it, Lautrec walked with his back straight and his head tall.

He bowed, ignoring the pain that traveled through his body, and picked up a strange and old key. He inspected it, but only for a moment.

It was all the time he was allowed before the sound of Solaire’s steps reached him. Lautrec looked up and saw how Solaire was approaching him.

His sunlight sword and round shield, in no better condition than Lautrec’s sword, were back on the sheath hanging from his waist and on his back respectively

“Look who it is, the hero of the moment.” Lautrec said mockingly.

“That key.” Solaire stopped less than a step away from Lautrec and spread his arm forwards. “Give it to me.”

“Is that an order? Has this small victory gotten to your head so quickly? Pull your head out of your ass, Solaire. There is nothing great in what you did. You defeated a deformed abomination, nothing more. Besides, if it wasn’t for me, you would have died. You would have been chewed and devoured like a cheap cut of meat. This battle would have been lost without me; don’t you dare forget it.”

“Give me the damn key!”

Solaire grabbed Lautrec’s wrist and trapped it in an unforgiving grip. His hands were blistered and crimson, but still they had the strength necessary to snatch the key from Lautrec with ease.

Lautrec’s previous anger flared up again and drove Lautrec to confront the Astoran.

His tongue remained stuck on his palate when he noticed Solaire’s glare.

His blue eyes glowed fiercely with danger and threat.

“This key belongs to Oscar.” Solaire exclaimed. “It’s not yours to wield, Lautrec. Don’t you dare stand in Oscar’s way. I will not tell you again.”

“Who the hell do you think you are talking to?” Lautrec grabbed Solaire by the collar of his tattered tunic. “I am Lautrec the Embraced, you fucking Astoran. And I shall not—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Solaire slapped Lautrec’s arm away from him.

Unafraid and uncaring of Lautrec, Solaire turned his back on him and began walking in the opposite direction. He stopped only to pick up his helmet along the way.

He didn’t put it on.

Then, he went up the same stairs that had granted them access to the dragon’s chamber.

“Let’s go.” He told Lautrec. “We need to go back to the bonfire. Oscar should be back now. I have made him wait long enough.”

Solaire disappeared inside the stairs’ tunnel before Lautrec could talk.

The knight of Carim remained in the chamber all by himself, his mind still not grasping everything Solaire had said and done.

* * *

Two familiar voices welcomed Solaire as he emerged from the stairs.

He rushed toward them.

For Domhnall’s, he felt nothing.

It was the other voice which reawakened his anger.

“S-Solaire!” Laurentius exclaimed. He ran to his side and put his hands on his shoulders. “You are safe! I’m so glad.”

“This lad was worried sick about you.” Domhnall added, sitting down on his usual spot next to his merchandise. “We heard everything. That dragon’s shrieks will give me nightmares for long while! He wanted to go and help you out, but I talked him out of it. It wasn’t easy, I tell you. I almost had to restrain him, but I know better than to attempt that on a pyromancer. No offense, boy.”

“None taken.” Laurentius replied, dedicating a mellow look at the old merchant. Then, he looked at Solaire again. “What matters is that you are alive, my friend. I promise I will fight by your side in our next—”

“Where’s Oscar?”

The question destroyed the amiable atmosphere Domhnall and Laurentius had created. The change transformed Laurentius’ mortified gaze into one of fear.

Solaire couldn’t speak in any other tone. A part of himself tried to calm down, but the sight of Laurentius carrying Oscar’s shield and sword as if they were his filled Solaire with rage.

“Why are you are carrying his equipment?” Solaire grabbed Laurentius’ arms and removed them from his shoulders. “It doesn’t belong to you! I told you to give them to Oscar as soon as he came back to life! Where is he? Did you leave him alone at the bonfire?”

Laurentius tried to speak, but his stuttering accentuated to the point where he couldn’t form a single word.

“I told you to wait for him!” Solaire exclaimed, deaf to the way Laurentius’ arms creaked under his palms. “I trusted you, dammit! And you’ve betrayed me... you’ve betrayed Oscar!”

“N-no!” Laurentius finally said, struggling to break free from Solaire, but the more he moved, the stronger Solaire’s grip became. “I-I-I would never—”

“You just did.” Solaire released Laurentius’ arms and redirected one of his hands at his neck. He lifted him from the floor with ease. Laurentius choked on his tears and his lack of air. “You being here while Oscar isn’t is the biggest treason you could have ever inflicted on us!

“Stop!” Domhnall intervened by grabbing Solaire’s arm. He tried to pull it down, but his strength was no match for Solaire’s. “Have you gone mad? You are going to kill him!”

The accusation shook Solaire’s world.

His gaze went from Domhnall to Laurentius again.

The pyromancer’s face was distorted by pain. His eyes were tightly shut. His mouth moved gently. At first, Solaire thought he was gasping for air with what little strength he had left, but his lips moved to form a soundless word.

_Sorry._

Slowly, Laurentius opened his eyes and looked at him.

Solaire’s heart sunk to his feet.

_Sorry._

He released him as if his hands had been burned. Laurentius fell to the floor with a loud splash. Domhnall knelt to his side and watched over him as Laurentius caught his breath with many desperate mouthfuls of air.

Solaire wished to pluck his own eyes out so he could stop witnessing the scene he had created. He stared at his hands, as if prepared to carry out the deed. The sight of his blistered skin stopped him from contemplating such ridiculous thoughts.

Those were the same hands that could cast miracles again.

The same hands that had hurt Laurentius.

The same hands that had held Oscar’s corpse.

His hands instinctively jolted towards Oscar’s tunic, but he didn’t find it. It was gone, lost at some point during his fight against the dragon.

Loss stung him like a dagger.

Solaire wanted to go back and look for it, but his body was heavy and glued to where he stood.

_Oscar._

He fell to his knees and hid his face behind his hands.

“He is dead.”

The sentence came not from Lautrec or Laurentius.

Solaire had spoken it himself.

_And he is not coming back._

The mere thought felt like a curse, but too much time had passed.

Solaire knew it, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

He hated himself for it.

It was as if he was betraying Oscar.

“But you promised. You promised me you would always come back.”

_No... I can’t lose hope! I must believe in him. He will return. He is not dead for good. He is just—_

But there was no fundament to his hope.

No reason could justify his faith in such promise anymore.

Oscar was gone.

That was the only explanation reality allowed.

Hatred boiled inside Solaire again, but it cooled at the weight of an arm resting on his shoulders.

Solaire knew to whom it belonged, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at him in the eye.

Not after what he had done to him.

His shame and grief weighed him down until his forehead touched the floor.

For the first time since Oscar had passed, Solaire’s tears came back to him and cemented his new reality once and for all.

It didn’t take long for his sobs to reemerge as well.

All the while, Laurentius remained by his side.

* * *

Lautrec was welcomed by the scene of Solaire’s meltdown.

It was nothing like his display of rage during their fight with the dragon, but it was equally powerful in its own way.

“Ridiculous.” Lautrec hissed under his breath.

He looked down at the half-destroyed Astoran tunic on his hand.

_I guess this is farewell, Oscar._

Lautrec removed his helmet and smiled.

_The short-lived Chosen Undead of Astora._


	38. Acceptance leaves a bitter aftertaste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone (a little late, I know haha!) I really hopw everyone had a good time!
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading, leaving kudos and to mrs Littletall for the comments!!
> 
> I hope you like the chapter!

Her aimless wandering came to a stop.

She collapsed. The murky water hid half her face; mud and filth caked her legs and torso, gluing her to the clammy surface.

Where was she?

She thought she knew, but nothing was clear to her anymore. Nothing except that she had no reason to be alive.

Her sisters were gone.

Mildred had avenged them. She had made their murderers pay.

Death had taken her before the deed was done, but she was sure the knight of thorns had finished the job in her stead.

Or had he?

Maybe he had died too, and the heartless murderers still roamed free, unpunished and unrepentant of all the wrong they had committed against her and her family.

Mildred could feel a festering anger within her, but it was a blurry presence she couldn’t wholly comprehend. Her mind was hazy, as if it was still drunk by the numbness of death.

But she wasn’t dead anymore.

She was alive.

What for?

She breathed in, swallowing some of the muddy water. She choked violently, but her discomfort didn’t feel real.

_Why?_

A deep cold spread across her body, blooming from her chest, right above her heart.

_Why am I still here?_

She thought of her sisters, and of the knights that had killed them.

Childishly, Mildred tried to find comfort in imagining a scenario where she killed the two men with her bare hands and then butchered and devoured their corpses.

A perfect revenge, the payback she and her sisters deserved.

If there was something to be felt about that image, it was amiss for Mildred.

In the end, even if she had come out victorious, even if the knight of thorns had kept his word and those other two knights were now burning in the most hellish pit, it didn’t matter.

Her sisters were gone. That was a fact no one could change.

Mildred knew better than to fool herself into thinking her sisters had come back to life. They had been Hollowed for far too long, barely holding any semblance of true reason on their minds: they would never come back.

_Then why?_

Memories, feelings, and reason began to be swallowed by the maddening darkness growing inside her. Mildred had been able to keep it in check in the past, both with the aid of her sisters, the Humanities she stole from the selfish fools that invaded her home and the amusement they offered her when she hunted them down like prey.

She couldn’t hold to none of it any longer.

She didn’t want to.

_Am I... dying?_

She had experienced death many times. Yet, something was wrong. No death she had endured before had ever felt like this.

So thick, so cold.

Despite everything, she accepted it.

_My sisters. We will see each other soon, and this time, I’ll stay forever by your side._

And by accepting it, Mildred never discovered she would have not been able to fight it back had she tried.

The Hollowing consumed her.

In a hidden bonfire nearby, a knight was reborn from its ashes.

* * *

“I’m almost done.” Domhnall announced.

“Y-yes.” Laurentius stood up. It was him who answered on everyone’s behalf, as neither Solaire nor Lautrec paid Domhnall no mind. “Thank you.”

“I did what I could. Your companions’ equipment should be able to resist a few more battles, but I’m a collector, not a blacksmith.” Domhnall’s voice, which had not been friendly from the start, became bitter and cold when he looked at Solaire and Lautrec. “Be sure to get it properly repaired as soon as your business here is done.”

The two knights, each one sitting on opposite sides of the sewer, said nothing in return.

Lautrec didn’t even bother to look at Domhnall, too busy playing with his parrying dagger.

Solaire’s situation was no different, but it wasn’t derision or meanness which motivated his silence. He simply didn’t have the energy to do anything else that wasn’t sitting down on the cold and damp floor, his eyes fixed on the parrying dagger that had been gifted to him.

A dagger that would see no use now that Oscar was gone.

The thought resonated inside him. Solaire felt its sour effect, but his weariness was too great to allow his grief to manifest again.

He felt trapped in a limbo where numbness and indifference were the only options. They were dull and unpleasant, but also lighter than the lingering feeling of loss.

“I’ll let you know once everything’s ready.” Domhnall stated, annoyed by the lack of a proper answer.

Solaire heard his anger and understood it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the old collector’s mood.

Laurentius drew breath to say something.

In the end, the pyromancer said nothing and returned to Solaire’s side. He sat down next to him again.

He irradiated a warmth that reached Solaire, covering him like a soft blanket.

It was a trait common in most pyromancers, but there was a clear intent behind what Laurentius was doing.

Perhaps he thought the feeling would be comforting for Solaire. Deep down, Solaire knew the gesture was good natured and sincere, but it wasn’t soothing at all.

To him, it was simply nothing, just a waste of everyone’s time.

_Not unlike me._

Solaire came close to chuckling, but his tongue remain stuck to his palette, just likes his eyes couldn’t look away from the parrying dagger.

_Why did we even meet, Oscar?_

He traced his fingers along the blunt side of the dagger’s blade.

_If this was our fate all along, then maybe it would have been better if we hadn’t met at all._

Tears stung his eyes. Solaire wiped them away, but the damage was done.

Even amidst his exhaustion, pain began to resurface again.

He couldn’t allow that to happen.

A gentle hand on his shoulder offered him a necessary distraction, but not a welcome one.

“It’s alright.” Laurentius told him in a soft whisper.

The statement enraged Solaire. Not only was it foolish, it was also a lie.

Nothing would truly be alright again, and he knew it.

And so did Laurentius.

There was no need for false comfort.

His anger clashed with his grief, and the collision of both feelings was more than what his mind and body were capable of enduring.

Solaire felt how he slipped back into a quiet indifference.

There was also a tingle in his chest. It was sharp and cold, blooming right above his heart, not too far away from his own Darksign.

He had felt it before, back in Firelink Shrine. If it hadn’t been for Oscar, he would have Hollowed there. His journey would have ended before it could truly begin.

Maybe, he thought, it would have been better that way.

Maybe that was how it always should have been.

“Here.” Laurentius took a Humanity out from a leather pouch hanging from his waist. He offered it to Solaire. “Use it. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Aren’t you generous.” Lautrec intervened, putting his dagger away and staring at the dark essence twitching on Laurentius’ palm. “I sure wish you had showed such kindness towards me. I too fought against that monster. Or what? Am I not worthy of some refreshment as well?”

He spoke as if he was offended, but his amusement was evident. Solaire didn’t need to look at him to know the mocking expression he was giving Laurentius.

“S-Solaire needs it more than you.” Laurentius replied, more defiantly than Lautrec undoubtedly had expected. “I-If you are exhausted or injured, I’ll give you some of my Estus, but none of this Humanity.”

Without waiting for a reply, Laurentius gently held one of Solaire’s metal bracelets. He tried to pull his arm closer to the Humanity, but Solaire resisted. Weakened as he was, his strength easily outmatched Laurentius’.

“Solaire.”

“I don’t want it.”

“But you need it.” Laurentius, aware he wouldn’t make Solaire’s arm budge, tried to pull Solaire’s hands down instead, so that his chest would be exposed, and he could infuse him with the Humanity. “Now take it.”

“Keep that thing away from me!” Solaire reacted by violently slamming his arm against Laurentius. He hit the pyromancer right under his neck, throwing him down to the floor.

Laurentius’s back hit the wet surface of the sewer. He landed clumsily, and it took a moment for him to straighten up again.

The first thing he did afterwards was giving Solaire a desolate and confused gaze. By instinct, Solaire felt the impulse of rushing to his side and help him stand up, and to apologize to him for his despicable behavior.

But he couldn’t.

“I—” The word escaped his lips, but it was only followed by a series of shaky gasps. His fingers lost their strength, allowing the dagger to escape from his grip and fall to the floor.

Its soft clinking was the only sound that resonated in the sewer for a long moment.

It felt eternal.

Eventually, the silence was broken by Domhnall. The old collector was walking towards them again, but he was stopped by Laurentius.

The pyromancer raised his free hand, signaling him to stop. Then, he stood up, still carefully holding the Humanity he had offered Solaire.

Reluctantly, Domhnall returned to his usual spot to continue working on Solaire’s and Lautrec’s equipment, but Solaire still could feel the old man’s hidden eyes anchored on him, bitter and resentful for the treatment he was giving Laurentius.

Domhnall hated him, and Solaire couldn’t blame him.

Overwhelmed by a hurricane of emotions, Solare tried to pick up his parrying dagger, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch it again.

_I can’t._

With nowhere else to go, Solaire’s hands retreated to his face. His fingertips rubbed against the skin of his forehead, pressing so tightly that his knuckles turned as white as bone.

“Well then, I think that settles it.” Lautrec’s words came after the rustling murmur of his amor. Then, he started walking directly toward Laurentius. “Unlike sun boy over there, I am more than willing to use that little piece of Humanity. Hand it over, pyromancer.”

Laurentius took a step back for every step Lautrec took in his direction.

“N-n-no.” Even through his stuttering, Laurentius retained a semblance of defiance. “This Humanity is-is-is—”

“You are beyond annoying.” Lautrec’s voice now rang truly threatening. “And stupid too, if you think I will put up with your impertinence any longer. It was amusing at first, but you’ve grown far too disrespectful for a swamp rat. I’ll have no more of it. Now give me that Humanity, or else I´ll strip it from your corpse.”

“Lautrec!” Solaire intervened. It took all his strength, but he knew well how capable Lautrec was of carrying out his threat.

He wouldn’t hesitate to attack Domhnall either, if he tried to defend Laurentius.

Neither men deserved a fate so brutal, even less for Solaire’s sake.

He couldn’t just watch as Lautrec unleashed his savagery upon them.

_I couldn’t save my best friend. The only true friend I’ve ever had. What makes me think I can save anyone?_

The thought was so discouraging that Solaire felt tempted to end his intervention there and allow fate to unfold before his eyes, but what little courage and Humanity remained in his heart allowed him to carry on.

_But my Humanity is not little. I still have a fair share of it... all thanks to you, Oscar._

Guilt had never felt so heavy and real.

“Enough, Lautrec. That Humanity is not mine or yours, it’s Laurentius’.” Solaire limply raised his head and looked at the pyromancer. He noticed Lautrec’s glare, too, but he focused only on Laurentius’ distraught eyes. “Use it on yourself. The death the knight of thorns gave you was difficult and brutal. You are the one who needs it most. Besides, my soul still has plenty Humanity left.”

“E-enough! Who do you think you are fooling?” Laurentius, for the first time since they had met, looked at Solaire with anger and annoyance. “You’re—You’re slipping away from us. Do you think I don’t notice? Do you think I can’t see how close you are to—”

Laurentius clenched his mouth closed, baring his teeth as he struggled to keep his composure.

Lautrec folded his arms. He had an expression on his face that oscillated between curiosity and annoyance.

“You are a good man Solaire, and so was Oscar.” Laurentius said.

The sound of that name was like a stab in the gut for Solaire. He knew Oscar was gone, but to hear someone else speaking of him as an entity that no longer existed in the world was almost impossible to bear.

Overwhelmed by his shock, Solaire could only remain frozen where he sat, as if time had stopped for him forever.

“He cared about you, as much as you cared about him. Even I could see it, in the short time the three of us were together. You were proud, selfless knights that had enough generosity in your hearts to worry about each other, and for pathetic strangers like me. You were kind, loyal and brave in ways cowards like me can never be. That’s why to see you like this, so broken and uncaring, as if nothing mattered to you anymore...as if you were about to go Hollow—”

Laurentius’ tears began to stream down his face. Some of them dripped from the line of his jaw, while others dripped from his chin. The Humanity he was holding trembled together with the rest of his arm.

“It’s not fair.” There was more anger in Laurentius’ voice than there was pain. “Neither of you deserved none of what’s happened here. You didn’t deserve a useless companion like me. I was too much of a coward to remain by your side when that man-eating woman tricked us. If I had gone with you, then maybe Oscar—”

Laurentius couldn’t finish.

Solaire was glad for it. He wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

It was horrible enough that, in the deepest corner of his heart, he had thought the same thing when it had been Laurentius who had come back to life and not Oscar. It had been a fleeting dark thought, but a real one as well.

And it wasn’t as if Solaire had been discreet about the feeling either. It hadn’t been his intention, but his actions and anger had spoken for themselves.

He looked down, trying desperately to think of anything else. When his gaze met the parrying dagger again, still discarded on the floor, he shut his eyes and covered them with a hand.

“It cannot end like this for you, Solaire.” Laurentius continued, coherent and clear. “You are a good man. Oscar knew it, and I know it. A courageous Warrior of Sunlight, the man that saved my life. You cannot give up now. You still have a purpose to fulfill.”

Laurentius sniffled loudly, scrubbing his face clean with his sleeve.

No one reacted immediately to his words. Even Lautrec, always so eager to use his tongue to inflict a poisonous wound, remained quiet.

The silence allowed Solaire to calm down, but everything Laurentius had said still echoed inside him.

“You are wrong.” It amazed Solaire how easily words and his own voice came to him. “About everything regarding me, Laurentius. I am not a good man, nor a courageous Warrior of Sunlight, and neither do I have a clear purpose anymore. I wonder if I ever did.”

Solaire shifted his position slightly, finally giving his tense muscles the opportunity to relax.

“Maybe my objectives were firm and clear once, but now everything feels confusing and scattered, as if I was walking a path without direction. I had thought that, perhaps, I could find the purpose I never found in life in this Undead existence. That’s why I cursed myself willingly with this blight, but what have I found so far? Nothing, nothing at all.”

He made a brief pause, but not because he expected a reply. Solaire merely did so to process the thousands of thoughts that were slowly settling down on his mind.

“To be honest, I don’t know what I was expecting to find in this cursed land. Perhaps finding a purpose came second to running away from my old life. Deep down, maybe I always knew that there was nothing of worth to be discovered here. But I did find something. I found Oscar.”

A soft smile formed on his lips. Solaire knew that it was treasonous of him to do so now that Oscar was gone, but he couldn’t suppress it.

The nostalgic joy he was feeling was too pure to wholly silence it.

“Our friendship was not what either of us was looking for when we came to Lordran. We didn’t meet under the best of circumstances, and we didn’t always get along. Oscar and I were too different. We argued and bickered at times; we said hurtful things, but we were always there for each other. We talked, we laughed, we cried, and we continued to travel together no matter what danger we found in our way. And to me, that was enough; to be with someone that cherished me as a friend, someone I could count on and I could learn new things with... that was truly more than enough for me.”

_Oscar, I once told you that my fate and purpose were mine alone, that they were not yours to claim and live as if they were your own. Yet, I feel that’s exactly what I did with you. At times, I feel like my search for my sun become one and the same with the search for your fate as the Chosen Undead._

Tears didn’t betray him. Even when his heart hurt if it was about to burst, his eyes refused to express his pain.

Slowly, Solaire picked up his parrying dagger. He held it carefully by the hilt, enclosing it with both hands.

_I was always too harsh with you. Forgive me._

“My friend.”

It wasn’t until he stopped speaking that Solaire realized he was crying again. His own reaction took him off guard.

He had expected that, if he was to weep once more, he would lose control.

But he didn’t.

His tears flowed calmly from his eyes, uninterrupted by shaking sobs or violent anger.

Solaire had never been ashamed of shedding tears. Ever since he was a child, crying had often been his only true source of comfort; but this time, it wasn’t enough.

It made him feel calmer, but not better.

It was an awful feeling, and he wondered if this was how Oscar had felt after all he had gone through at the Undead Asylum.

If that was the case, then his friend had been strong in ways he couldn’t fathom.

“Oscar’s death was expected. Better said, it was overdue.”

Lautrec said, without the slightest trace of sympathy.

“He had great ambitions, but he didn’t have the skill and strength necessary to live up to them. If he is dead, it’s simply because he didn’t have what it takes to become that ridiculous Chosen Undead you Astorans are so obsessed with. Many fools have died searching the same fate and glory. Oscar was no different from them; he was just another idiot with an unmeasured ego. He should have known better than to delude himself into embarking into this fool’s errand. He got what he deserved. End of story.”

Solaire couldn’t form an argument.

He could barely form a rational thought.

It hurt him that the only emotion that seemed to overcome his grief was hatred, but after Lautrec had dared to talk of Oscar that way, he couldn’t control himself.

He would have stood up and charged at Lautrec, blinded by rage, probably sparking a duel that would end in death for either or both of them, if Laurentius hadn’t spoken first.

The pyromancer stood in front of Solaire in a protective manner.

The gesture cooled down Solaire’s violent fury and replaced with the stacking shame for all he had done to Laurentius.

Even now, he continued to be on his side.

What had Solaire ever done to be worthy of such patience and compassion, he didn’t know.

“H-how... H-h-how—”

“What’s the matter? Did I upset your cramping tongue?” Lautrec sneered, proud of himself.

“How dare you talk of Oscar that way?” Laurentius said, shaking from head to toe, both from his effort to speak and his indignation. “His motives weren’t ridiculous or stupid. He lived and fought for what he thought was right; his dream kept him sane and alive! And he did so without becoming selfish or cruel. Oscar never stopped being true to himself. No Undead that accomplish this is failure in my eyes.”

“Yes, very touching. What a shame the opinion of a cowardly pyromancer such as yourself isn’t worth a damn.”

“What about you, knight of Carim?” Laurentius insisted, visible terrified by Lautrec’s potential reaction, but decided to continue confronting him regardless. “What about your reasons? You are in Lordran, just like the rest of us! No one that has ever come to this land willingly has done so because their lives back home were fulfilling or peaceful. Each one of us have our motives to be here, besides the Undead curse, and they are all complicated and dark. You are the same, aren’t you?”

The change in Lautrec’s expression immediately sent a shiver down Solaire’s back.

If Laurentius noticed it, it wasn’t enough to make him stop.

“A-a knight of Carim like you, without a lady to look after, surely understands the meaning of loss and despair. Then, how can you be so derisive of others when you—"

Lautrec swung his dagger directly at Laurentius’ throat. Solaire, knowing well the attack would happen long before it did, had stood up before Lautrec lunged his weapon forward.

He grabbed Laurentius by the shoulder with one hand and pulled him down. It was brusque maneuver, and Laurentius grunted in pain as he was violently thrown back into the floor, but it also saved his life.

With his other hand, Solaire deflected the weapon by making it clash against his own parrying dagger.

Both blades remained together for a second, sending sparks flying from their brief but poweful contact.

Lautrec was staggered by the impact, but he recovered instantly.

He then tried to attack again, but Solaire managed to grab him by the wrists before he had the chance.

With their arms locked in a struggle, Solaire and Lautrec glared at each other with piercing eyes.

Lautrec’s strength was not something to be underestimated, and maybe he would have overpowered Solaire if it wasn’t for his own exhaustion.

After some effort, Solaire managed to bring Lautrec’s arms down, not without making him release the dagger first by pressing his wrist until it finally gave in.

Once the weapon hit the floor, Solaire kicked it away and violently pushed Lautrec away from him.

The knight of Carim panted heavily, and so did Solaire.

But while Solaire did so out of tiredness, Lautrec’s panting was the aftermath of the bout of fury Laurentius had ignited within him.

His nostrils flared; his lips were apart, quivering in a grimace that exposed his teeth in an almost feral manner.

His anger was almost palpable in the air.

Solaire raised his dagger and aimed it at Lautrec.

A fight was the least thing both his mind and body wished for, but Solaire prepared for one regardless. He had to, for the sake of Laurentius and Domhnall.

_Oscar. Oscar. Oscar._

He tried to think of something else, but not even the threat of a potential battle could keep Oscar away from his mind.

The initial boost of stamina and energy that had sparked in his entire body after watching Laurentius was in danger started to dissipate.

Solaire shifted one of his legs to a different position in a desperate attempt to keep himself from falling to his knees.

Lautrec, holding tightly his injured wrist, took a step back. His face was crimson, his furrow so frowned that it looked as if the skin of his forehead and temples would tear apart.

“You know nothing.” It sounded like the hiss of a viper more than the voice of a man. “My motives are mine alone. They are not something scum like you can understand. If you ever again suggest that you do, I’ll flay you alive and hang your bloody corpse for the crows to devour.”

The threat was addressed to Laurentius, but Solaire knew it involved everyone present, even Domhnall.

“Don’t you dare compare yourselves with me. We are not the same.” Lautrec said as he retreated to a distant corner. He stopped for a second and looked over his shoulder. “You know nothing.”

His retreat took Solaire by surprise at first, but he quickly realized it had been the smartest move Lautrec could have made.

Weak as he still felt, Solaire could still defeat him in a duel. The broken wrist he had left Lautrec with was proof enough.

There was also Laurentius, who had stood up and remained close to Solaire, right by his side.

Solaire tried to turn his back on the pyromancer, but his legs faltered. Laurentius managed to catch him before he fell completely to the floor.

“Are you alright?” Laurentius asked Solaire as he helped stand on his feet.

Solaire answered only with a nod.

Gently but firmly, he removed his arm from Laurentius’ shoulders. Unable to bring himself to look at Laurentius in the eye again, Solaire began to slowly walk away from him.

“Solaire.” Laurentius stopped him only with his voice. “This Humanity. Use it, please.”

“I wasn’t lying to you before. I don’t need Humanity.”

_That’s not what I’m missing._

“Use it on yourself, Laurentius. You need it much more than I do.”

“T-then at least let’s go back to the bonfire. Resting by the fire will help you recover faster, and you can also refill you Estus flask and—”

“No. I’m not going back there.”

He could never set foot again in front of the bonfire from which Oscar had never reemerged from.

In silence, Solaire returned to his previous spot without giving Laurentius the chance to reply. He would have ignored him even if he had.

He was about to reach his destination when he caught something with the corner of his eye. Though tired and in dire need for rest, Solaire changed his direction and approached it.

It lay on the floor, forgotten and disdainfully discarded as if it was litter.

Solaire recognized its true worth, and with a carefulness that didn’t match his battle-weary hands, he picked it up.

He didn’t know how Oscar’s tunic had ended up there, but he didn’t care.

To have it back after thinking it was lost forever was more than enough for him.

He held it with one hand while he held his parrying dagger with the other.

“Oscar.”

His friend’s name was little more than a whisper.

It rang softly on his ears before it vanished.

* * *

“Oh, my dear lady, do not fret. It’s only your knight who’s been reborn.”

Eingyi’s voice was the last thing Kirk wanted to listen now that he had finally returned to life.

He didn’t know how long he had remained trapped in death, but somehow, he felt it had been longer than ever before.

Truth was, that his latest death felt strange in a manner of ways.

Finding some Humanity for himself was a priority. It had been a long while since he had last worried about his own mind and soul.

Yet, that wouldn’t explain why he remembered it.

Death was not meant to leave any memories of its passing, but Kirk could recall something about his stay in that absolute darkness.

A voice, perhaps two.

One was unknown to him, but the other was familiar.

It belonged to the elite knight of Astora, the same he had defeated and killed.

“Quelaag?” The lady said. “Is that you?”

The Fair Lady’s voice anchored Kirk to reality once and for all and restored his earthly duties firmly on his heart.

His memory of death and what he had heard faded from his mind, the same way a dream would have been forgotten after waking up.


	39. For you, a part of my soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!  
> Sorry for the delay. This chapter gave me some trouble, but I finally manged to figure it out!
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading, leaving kudos and to Mrs Littletall for the comments!
> 
> Hope you like the chapter!

The last of the ghouls finally met its end at the touch of his swords.

Lautrec swung his weapons to clean them from the excess of blood. Then, he crouched next to the corpse and looted it. Little was his surprise when he discovered nothing of worth in the creature’s body, other than a meager clump of moss and two toxic needles.

It was a poor reward for his efforts and all the trouble he had gone through to kill those abominations without getting infected or poisoned. 

“What a waste of time.” Lautrec grunted, putting away his petty loot in one of his bags.

He turned around. His dead enemies decorated the tunnel like dry leaves in a forest.

He had made his way to that place in his attempt to free himself from Laurentius’ and Solaire’s annoying presence for a while. He had wandered around the swamp of Blighttown on his own, and eventually, he had discovered a rustic and dangerous structure.

It served as a rustic and poorly constructed ascensor. Falling from it was easier than it was to get in.

Moved by his need to be alone and curious of where the ascensor led, Lautrec had dared to explore those higher routes on his own.

After reaching a platform, he had proceeded to climb many sets of stairs. They had taken him to that tunnel infested with blowpipe-wielding ghouls and fire breathing dogs. 

Fooled by the number of his enemies, Lautrec had foolishly believed there was be something of worth to be found in that area.

Surely those infected creatures, as Hollowed as they were, did not gather around that place for nothing. If their rotten brains, guided only by instinct, commanded them to group there, it was because they were guarding something valuable.

It was a behavior common in Hollows, to continue protecting or wander around the places they had treasured in life, even if they no longer remembered what it was or what it meant for them.

In the end, Lautrec’s expectations had been betrayed, and all he had found in that godforsaken tunnel had been creatures eager to burn him to ashes and corrupt his blood with toxicity and poison.

It had been all for nothing.

Granted, his self-imposed ordeal had at least proven to be a good way to keep himself away from those two idiots that were his travelling partners.

Still, Lautrec couldn’t help to feel unsatisfied and frustrated.

_That cursed Humanity of yours better be worth all this trouble, Solaire._

He thought as he began to make his way back to tunnel’s entrance.

Solaire’s Humanity would soon be ready to be harvested. Lautrec knew that fool’s dark essence would be strong and plenty, especially after the scar Oscar’s death had left him with.

Astorans had always been the bearers of the darkest Humanities.

And the more they suffered, the more powerful it seemed to become.

_That last part is just my personal theory... but oh, how satisfying it is to play around with their weak hearts before striking them down._

His lady had once enjoyed these amusements just as much as him.

And Fina had done so too.

Lautrec staggered. He erased from his mind the memory of his original lady before it could taint his heart with pathetic sentimentalities.

Those were behaviors proper of Astorans, not of a Carim knight.

And above all, to do so would be the greatest sin he could commit against Fina.

His true and only Lady.

The only Lady that was worthy of his praise, worship and affection.

_My Lady._

Lautrec looked up. He couldn’t see the sky, just a dirty roof where fungus and cobwebs covered the stone.

_My goddess. I know I failed you. I was careless, and I shamed you with my unworthy defeat. But I have not given up. I’m still here, and soon I shall offer you Humanity, Astoran Humanity! Do not forsake me yet, my Lady. Do not deprive your faithful knight from your tender embrace._

The metallic arms on his cuirass became heavier with another presence. The divine sensation took Lautrec off guard and deprived his legs of all their strength.

He fell to his knees, incredulous that his prayer had not only been heard, but also answered. The soft brush of Fina’s lips on his ear were the perfect prelude for her silky voice.

_My knight._

She whispered to him, pulling him closer to her, until his back rested on her breasts.

Lautrec couldn’t answer. He remained silent and with his mouth opened, allowing some of his tears to find their way to his tongue.

“Fina.” It seems ages before he remembered he had a voice. “You came back to me.”

_Of course I did. My silence was your rightful punishment, but I never stopped watching over you. I have witnessed your efforts, my knight, just like I’ve heard your treacherous thoughts. How dare you think of your former lady? How dare you betray me in this manner? Is my love not good enough for you?_

“It is!” He replied, choking with the lump on his throat.

_Then why you did it? When you became my knight, I commanded you to never to think of that harlot again. I am your everything, and mine is your every thought. As if failing me once wasn’t offensive enough, you dare to humiliate me again by tarnishing my love for you with your pitiful reminiscences? Who do you think you are? I am a goddess, you’re just a mortal man._

“A disgraceful moment of weakness. A stain in my undying love for you that will not be repeated ever again.” Gently, Lautrec cupped his Lady’s hands on his own. He tried to lift them up and kiss them, but Fina refused the gesture. “I am yours.”

_Enough of your honeyed words. They are so banal, so hollow. They sicken me; they are useless. If what you claim is true, then don’t speak it out loud. Prove it to me with your actions. Show me you are still worthy of being my knight._

“I will. I promise you, my Lady. The Astoran... he is almost ready. His Humanity will be a fitting gift to you. I merely need a little more time and—”

_Why wait for it when you have a better gift right here?_

Fina freed her hands from Lautrec’s and put them under his jaw. Her touch was intoxicating, and Lautrec would have lost himself in the sensation if Fina hadn’t spoken to him again, after turning his head to the right, to a narrow corridor he had left unexplored.

_Over there. Can you see it, my knight?_

He could.

_That’s what I want. That’s a gift that could make me forgive and forget all your failures._

Lautrec stood up and went to where his Lady had commanded. Two fire-breathing dogs tried to stop him. He killed them quickly, his attacks empowered by Fina’s presence.

Soon, he reached a dead end. What he had thought was a sewer ended up being a cell, not very different from the Firekeeper’s back in Firelink Shrine.

Inside it, a bright soul lay surrounded by darkness.

Lautrec’s heart shriveled in dreadful expectative of the words his Lady was about to pronounce.

_Take it._

“My Lady.” His fingers stopped dangerously close to the soul. “I—I can’t.”

Fina’s arms around him became a crushing grip that seemed to pierce the plates of his armor and reach the skin of his chest.

_You’ve already denied it to me once, shortly before you found yourself locked in that cell. I forgave you, for you had never failed me before. Then, you failed me again by allowing a pitiful magician to defeat you. And now that I came back to you and honored your meaningless existence with my presence, you dare to contradict me again? What am I to you?_

Fina clawed at his heart, making it bleed.

_Who do you think you are?_

“But, my Lady.” Lautrec gasped, the coldness in his chest chilling the rest of his body. “For a knight of Carim to take a Firekeeper’s soul... it would be the greatest of sins. If I do this, I could never call myself a Carim knight again. I would—”

_You’d still be my knight. You’d be a true knight of Fina. What a shame none of this seems to be important to you._

His Lady dug her ethereal nails one last time on the surface of his heart before releasing him. Lautrec’s head crashed against the metal bars of the cell. He was exhausted and broken.

_Useless. What a failed excuse for a knight you are._

“Wait.”

_Silence! Don’t you dare address me. Lowly scum like you have not the right to do so._

“Fina.” Lautrec hissed, spending all his strength in turning around.

He leaned his back against the cell heavily. His breathing had been reduced to an irregular and ragged panting.

_I should have known from the start you’d be nothing but a waste of time._

“Fina!” Lautrec reached for her, but she was gone in an instant.

Before he knew it, he found himself all on his own again. The loneliness he had treasured so little ago now felt like a hellish punishment.

“My Lady.”

Lautrec got himself on his knees and allowed his forehead to drop to the floor. If it wasn’t for his helmet, he would have inflicted a crack on his skull.

“Don’t leave me.”

He got no answer.

Fina was gone.

Behind him, the soul he had refused to take flickered like a dying flame.

* * *

It was Laurentius who lit the bonfire.

The fire was too weak to offer warmth.

No matter; his own fire would offer the heat the bonfire couldn’t. At least, the flames did grant comfort to his injuries.

It came to Laurentius that he shouldn’t be so picky and ungrateful. He had to stop focusing on the setbacks and be thankful for what he had.

The fact they had found a second bonfire in Blighttown, that cursed place full of plague and disease, was a miracle.

Venom, poison, ghouls hungry for their flesh, dogs that breathed fire, ogres that stank of feces and attacked them relentlessly, they had survived it all.

Solaire and Lautrec had cut down every enemy that crossed their way.

Laurentius, much to his already burdening shame, had done very little in battle. This time, it hadn’t been his cowardice which held him back, but his sense of caution and his common sense.

To make use of his fire on those treacherous and brittle bridges of rotten wood, which already offered Solaire and Lautrec very little stability and space to maneuver, would be reckless and deadly. And if his fire didn’t kill his companions accidentally, it could burn away the floor beneath them and cursed them all to a lethal fall.

In the end, the only enemies Laurentius had been able to eliminate were those overgrown mosquitos that threatened to spit rotten blood at them. Other than that, he had been useless during their journey across Blighttown.

Lautrec, that despicable knight of Carim, had showed Laurentius no mercy. He had pinpointed his incompetence at every chance he got, as if reminding Laurentius of it was a sacred duty he couldn’t forsake.

“Why are you even here?”

Lautrec had told him after he and Solaire were done dispatching a particularly vile horde of ghouls. Laurentius, who had been searching their corpses for moss, had stared emptily at him.

“Cowardly men like you don’t belong in this place. You should have stayed in the sewers, with the basilisks, the dead rats and that pathetic old collector. Better yet, you should have stayed in your swamp. But here you are, burdening us with your poor excuse of a life. Useless.”

Laurentius had held his tongue.

He already knew the knight of Carim would not hesitate to kill him if he provoked his anger. Laurentius had never liked the man, not from the start, but neither he had thought him capable of such savagery.

Knowing it was best for everyone if he just kept quiet, Laurentius had allowed the insults to pass him by.

Lautrec had then spat at him, a dreadful glare shining in his eyes.

Solaire had witnessed everything, but he had not intervened. When Laurentius had gone to his side and had offered him a blooming purple moss clump, the biggest he had found on the ghouls’ corpses, Solaire had accepted it carelessly, without saying single word in return.

Solaire’s indifference had stung him deeply, even if Laurentius was already used to it.

His friend, the jolly and kind Warrior of Sunlight that had saved his life, had become a distant and aloof stranger.

Yet, Solaire did not hesitate to protect Laurentius from danger; it had been in one of those occasions where he had gotten intoxicated for the first time. Luckily, the same ghoul that had harmed him had also carried on its corpse a moss to heal him.

Solaire had killed the creature from a distance with a lighting spear, but it had been Laurentius who had crossed the treacherous and thin bridge to get the cure.

In that occasion, Solaire had said nothing in return either. He had only given Laurentius a cold, assenting nod.

Solaire hated him, and Laurentius knew it.

But Solaire continued to protect him, just as Laurentius continued to heal him with every piece of moss he found along the way.

Solaire’s shield had blocked numerous attacks from the ghouls and ogres that would have reduced Laurentius to a bloody mush. His sword had slain all enemies that had threatened Laurentius’ life.

Solaire still fulfilled his role as a knight and a Warrior of Sunlight.

But he had changed.

He was not the same man Laurentius had known back in the Depths.

Or maybe, he was.

Maybe that Solaire still existed somewhere deep down, buried amidst the grief Oscar’s death had left inside his heart; but Laurentius couldn’t reach him.

_Solaire, trust me._

He thought, his mind returning to the bonfire he had just lit. Solaire was sitting down in front of it, his face hidden underneath his heaume.

Lautrec was not there with them.

He had gone to explore on his own again, claiming he needed a break from their annoying company.

Laurentius didn’t care. He wouldn’t miss the knight of Carim if he never returned, and neither would he mourn him if he went Hollow and died.

But he would do both for Solaire.

_If I could exchange my life for Oscar’s, I—_

Would he?

The answer was not as clear as he had thought.

He was such a coward.

Perhaps he had no right to get angry at Lautrec. It wasn’t as if the Carim knight was wrong about him, after all.

Defeated and exhausted, Laurentius sat down next to the bonfire. Its weak flames danced between him and Solaire.

“Here.” Laurentius said with a soft smile that had no true happiness behind it. He put his hands closer to the bonfire and poured some of his own fire into the flames.

The chilling cold of Blighttown slowly started to fade from their surroundings.

“That’s better, don’t you think?”

Solaire replied with his usual but unnatural silence.

“Solaire, I—”

Laurentius tried to confess his former thought, but he bit his tongue. What would it accomplish, other than reopening Solaire’s tender scar?

“I’m glad you can cast miracles again.” The change of subject was clumsy, but it was the best Laurentius could manage.

Solaire did react this time. He didn’t speak, but he took his eyes away from the bonfire and fixed them on Laurentius.

“I-I’ve always wanted to learn a miracle or two, you know? But it seems my talents lie solely in pyromancy.” Laurentius continued, awkwardly but kindly. “To see a Warrior of Sunlight like yourself in action is truly an experience.”

“I am not a Warrior of Sunlight.” The interruption was as sudden as it was dry. Solaire looked down and kept his gaze fixed there. “I don’t have the right to call myself one anymore, not after all my failures.”

“You—” Laurentius remained with his mouth agape. His closed it roughly, his teeth clanking as they clashed. It took him a while to gather his composure and courage before he could continue. “You haven’t failed, Solaire.”

“You don’t know me, Laurentius.”

“I know you enough for me to assure you that you are still a Warrior of Sunlight. All that’s happened... none of it was your fault. If there is someone to blame for what happened back in the Depths, for what happened to Oscar, then it’s me. It’s me who failed, but not you.”

Laurentius knew he had crossed the line. The change in Solaire’s eyes was evidence enough.

It had been foolish, even selfish of him, but he couldn’t allow Solaire to continue blaming himself.

With his hands shaking, Solaire removed his helmet and rubbed his temples, hiding his eyes behind his palm.

The most merciful thing to do would be to remain quiet and hope the silence would take away the harm he had done, but Laurentius couldn’t stop himself.

For the first time since he had been reborn, Solaire was actually listening and talking to him.

He couldn’t allow this chance to escape him.

“It should have been me who remained dead, not Oscar. He was a brave knight, your friend, and I’m just... a coward, a useless, pathetic man who has never belonged anywhere or done something remarkable in his life. And when I finally met someone who gave a damn about me, when you two allowed me to be your friend, all I did in return was abandoning when you needed me most. Forgive me, Solaire. If I could exchange my life for Oscar’s, then I—”

“Stop.” Solaire removed his hand from his eyes. The look he gave Laurentius was a mix of anger and sadness that left the pyromancer unsure of how he should react. “Don’t you dare say a word more. I don’t want to hear it.”

“But—”

“I said enough!” Solaire exclaimed, now fully enraged. “Do you think any of it makes me feel better? Or that it makes things right? Open your damn eyes, Laurentius. You can’t— You cannot make that sacrifice. If you died, it would not bring Oscar back. He is gone, and there’s nothing any of us can do to change that. Why can’t you just accept it and get those stupid thoughts out of your head already? Oscar is dead!”

His roar echoed across the empty sewer behind them and across the swamp outside. Had Laurentius not been so distraught by what Solaire had said, he would have worried about any potential enemies being lured in their direction by his scream.

Solaire breathed heavily, each of his exhalations hitting the fire and making it flicker.

Slowly, Solaire’s motions returned to normal, but the effect of his words remained.

His furrowed brow relaxed, and the blood that had turn his pale face crimson returned to the rest of his body. A deep, heavy sigh abandoned his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, the phantom of his old self showing itself. “For making you feel this way. I’m sorry for having been so unfair to you.”

“You have not.” Laurentius replied under his breath.

“I have, in thought, action and word. It’s true...I resented you when you came back but Oscar didn’t. I thought so many awful things, and spoke most of them out loud, too. By the gods, I attacked you, and had Domhnall not stopped me, I could have ended up killing—”

Solaire’s upper lip quivered.

It was not easy for him, and neither it was for Laurentius. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been aware of it before, but to hear Solaire recount all that had happened between them made everything feel awfully real.

“Do you see it now?” Solaire said in a whisper. “I have fallen too low to be a Warrior of Sunlight, let alone your friend. What I’ve done to you is beyond forgiveness. Perhaps it would best if we went our separate ways.”

“T-that’s up to me to decide.” Laurentius, for the first time, spoke to Solaire with severity. “I am not merely following you around like a mindless fool, Solaire. I have my own reasons to be here; and right now, those reasons are to be there for you. I am not going to abandon you.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did. I’m used to abandonment; besides, you wouldn’t be abandoning me if I am the one asking you to leave.”

“I-Is that how you truly feel? Because if you want me to go, then stop beating around the bush and just—”

“I want you to leave.” Solaire’s interruption was gentle and considerate. Perhaps that was the reason why it hurt Laurentius all the more. “That’s what would be best for all of us.”

With that sentence, Laurentius finally allowed himself to feel anger toward Solaire. The fire he had poured into the bonfire burned stronger, almost unbearably so.

“You hate me.” 

“No.”

“Y-yes, you do. You’ve hated me the moment I came back to life. You hate being around me. That’s how it is, isn’t it, Solaire? You don’t want me gone because you feel bad about how you’ve treated me. The true reason you want me gone is because my presence repulses you.”

Sweat began to form on Solaire’s forehead as Laurentius’ fire kept burning with more intensity. The heat was strong enough to make his own skin itch in discomfort.

“You are right again.” Solaire answered, his honesty being more effective than a slash of a sword. “But not about everything. I don’t hate you Laurentius, and your presence is not repulsive to me at all... but you are right. Maybe the reason I want you gone it’s not because I am ashamed for how I treated you. I regret it deeply, trust me, but that’s not why I want you gone.”

The bonfire’s flames became smaller and weaker, the same way they had been before Laurentius’ own fire had intervened. Behind them, Solaire looked at Laurentius with an exhausted but heartfelt gaze.

“To be around you causes me a lot of pain. Every time you give me moss to cure my poisoning, or offer me a shoulder to cry on, or you protect me from Lautrec’s cruel remarks, I don’t think of you. I think of Oscar. Whenever you are kind and friendly to me, despite all that’s happened and all I’ve done, you remind of him, and I—”

Solaire took a moment to gather his thoughts, while Laurentius remained trapped in a silence he didn’t know how to break.

It was not common for pyromancer to feel cold, but he felt it then.

An icy sting on his chest.

“I cannot bear it.” Solaire confessed. “I can barely keep myself together. To continue Oscar’s quest and ring the bell in his stead... to become the Chosen Undead he always dreamed to be, that is only thing that keeps me going. I know this is not what he would have wanted me to do, but if I don’t do it, if I allow his dream to be lost forever, I’ll go Hollow.”

He put a hand on his tattered tunic, just above his heart, right where his painted sun had once been.

“I can feel it, and it scares me; but I cannot give up now. I cannot let it all be for nothing; Oscar may be gone, but as long as I keep his memory alive, he will still exist, and I’ll have a reason to live. I have lost everything; this dream I borrowed from my best friend is the one thing I have left. It is the only sun I can hope to find. I can’t allow myself to succumb to grief, and every time I look at you, I fear I will.”

Laurentius felt his arms tired. His knuckles touched the sewer’s floor. It was damp and dirty with the swamp’s infested water.

For a moment, he felt as if he was back in his homeland.

He had never belonged among his fellow pyromancers, but at that moment, even their indifferent company felt preferable over Solaire’s.

“It-it was never my intention to hurt you.” He said. From the bag hanging from his waist, he took out all the mosses he had recollected along the way. He put them down on the floor, and next to them, he rested Oscar’s sword, helmet and shield. “And the least I want is for you to die or go Hollow.”

Though he was now free of the weight of Oscar’s equipment, his back felt crushingly heavy as he stood up.

“Thank you for letting me accompany you this far.” He turned his back to Solaire. “Thank you for saving my life. I only wish I had been able to do the same for him.”

_Thank you for being my friend, even it was short-lived._

Solaire moved behind him. He was getting back on his feet as well.

He took a step closer to Laurentius.

The pyromancer waited, but Solaire stayed still and silent.

“Where will you go?” He finally ventured.

Laurentius smiled to himself as his disappointment settled in. He had expected Solaire to tell him to stay, that his presence was not something he could give up so easily.

_I really am a stupid man._

“I came to Lordran hoping to become the worthy and respected pyromancer I could never be in life.” Laurentius stared at the putrid swamp outside. “Perhaps it’s time I continued my search for that purpose again. To find a way to grow stronger and thrive in this forsaken land, the home of Lord Gwyn and the Witch of Izalith, the godmother of pyromancy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted... I know it sounds foolish, but—”

“No, it doesn’t.” Solaire replied. “Not at all.”

Prompted to look back by Solaire’s kind and understanding tone, Laurentius found himself gazing at his friend one last time.

He didn’t know who smiled first, and perhaps it didn’t matter.

“Thank you.” Laurentius said. “Take care of yourself, my friend. I really hope we get to see each other again.”

“What? Leaving so soon?”

Whatever peace had been formed between Solaire and Laurentius was broken by the Lautrec. Laurentius turned his head so quickly that a muscle on his neck cramped.

At first, the knight of Carim was out of his sight. Slowly, he emerged from the edge of the sewer’s entrance. The mud of the swamp had muffled his steps.

He removed his helmet and revealed a patronizing grin. He dedicated it to Laurentius.

“And you didn’t even wait for me to bid you farewell.” Lautrec clicked his tongue. “Pyromancers have such awful manners. Don’t you agree, Solaire?”

It wasn’t until then that Laurentius noticed Solaire was standing next to him, wielding his sword and shield.

Lautrec cackled. He had rings under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in years.

After he entered the sewer that served as their sanctuary, Lautrec walked toward the bonfire.

He stopped just when he was passing next to Laurentius.

With his heart on his throat, Laurentius remained still, his fingertips burning with his readied fire. Solaire, not blind to the danger, put his sword between Laurentius and Lautrec.

“Such hostility!” Lautrec exclaimed. He rolled his eyes and dropped his helmet and swords carelessly to the floor. He then raised his unarmed hands for a second to prove he meant no harm before he sat down next to the bonfire.

The sound his armor made when it touched the floor crisped Laurentius’ already tense nerves. A soft gasp died in his throat.

“You two always expect the worst of me.” Lautrec approached his hands to the fire and rubbed his gauntlets, as if the friction could reach his skin and give him warmth. “Please. As if either of you were the personification of calmness and self-control; you, a rageful Astoran and a wayward pyromancer. How endearing.”

Lautrec returned his hands close to his chest. He looked up and dedicated to Laurentius his usual glare.

“I thought you were leaving. Why do you linger? Good riddance with you already.”

Laurentius himself was shocked when his legs did not respond to his commands. Lautrec’s absence had eased his resentment toward him, but now that he had him in front of him again, he became fully aware of how despicable the Carim knight truly was.

To leave Solaire alone with him seemed cruel beyond words.

Was Laurentius’ presence really so painful to Solaire that he would rather remain in the company of Lautrec?

Why Solaire allowed Lautrec to remain nearby, or why Lautrec decided to follow them around when their company apparently disgusted him so much, were things Laurentius couldn’t decipher.

_But to leave you here with him..._

Laurentius clenched his fists. Inside his chest, the power of his inner flame burned out of control.

“Do you hate me?” Lautrec inquired as he and Laurentius remained trapped in a silent visual struggle. A sneaky hand began to approach one of his discarded swords. “Do you want us to settle this like men, you little swamp rat?”

“Leave, Laurentius.” Solaire intervened, resting a hand on Laurentius’ shoulder. He began to push him to the sewer’s entrance

Laurentius didn’t budge at first, but eventually his body succumbed to Solaire’s strength.

“Go.” Solaire whispered in his ear as soon as Laurentius’ feet were out in the swamp. “If he goes out of control, he could kill you. And I may not be able to prevent it.”

“Solaire, I can’t just—” Laurentius replied defiantly.

“Please.” The forceful grip on his shoulder became gentler. “I am not the undefeatable protector I thought I was, Laurentius. If I was, then Oscar would still be alive. I don’t want to lose another friend. I don’t want you to die.”

“Actually, I think I’ve changed my mind.” Lautrec announced. He was standing up again. He was wielding his shotel swords. “Running off so casually is an awfully ungrateful way to thank us for keeping your sorry skin alive this long, don’t you agree? As I see it, a deadweight like you should at least offer the knights that protected him something in exchange for their services. A payment, if you will.”

“He doesn’t owe us anything.” Solaire intervened, standing in front of Laurentius and shielding him with his body. “Cut the act already, Lautrec. It’s not amusing at all.”

“As always, the dim-witted Astoran has spoken out his hourly dose of stupidity. Have you ever become aware of how annoying your idiocy is to those around you, Solaire? Poor Oscar... to think he put up with you for so long. Perhaps his death is a blessing for him instead of a curse.”

Solaire said nothing, but his arms dropped slightly. His sunlight sword and shield trembled.

Laurentius noticed these small changes, and his anger toward Lautrec multiplied.

“Do I really need to explain it to you? By the goddesses.” Lautrec huffed and rolled his eyes. When he spoke again, all mocking expression was gone from his face.

The cold, dead-serious grimace that replaced it sparked true fear in Laurentius.

“We spent plenty of energy in guarding his life. We blunted our weapons, tired our bodies and endured too much hardship to ensure he remained safe. It is only fair he makes it up to us, especially now that he is so eager to depart from us forever. Is it cruel of me to demand something in return after I risked my life for him so many times in those rotten bridges? Is it fair of him to leave us like nothing, as if getting him this far into this cursed place hadn’t costed us a great deal, Solaire?”

As much as he hated him, Laurentius found himself falling for Lautrec’s words.

How many times Solaire had gotten poisoned, bruised and injured when protecting him from the ogres and ghouls?

The bonfire would heal his injuries, but the fire burned weakly. The process would be slow, and whatever Estus it could offer would not be quite as effective.

Lautrec, that despicable and cruel knight, was not so wrong after all.

“I-I have not much to offer you.” Laurentius replied humbly. He gave a quick glance to the mosses he had left near the bonfire.

They looked so meager and pathetic. He hunched his head in embarrassment and shame.

He pondered over what else he could give him in exchange, but truth was that he had nothing of worth with him.

He had left the Great Swamp with nothing but the clothes on his back and a hopeful spirit that life as an Undead in Lordran would be better.

“But...” He said after a long moment of careful thought.

Slowly, he joined his hands together, and from his couped hands, a flame was born.

His flame.

“Here.” He announced.

Solaire turned around. Lautrec stayed where he was.

“This flame is a part of me. A part of my soul.” Laurentius explained to Solaire, who looked at him with glistening eyes. “With it, you’ll be able to cast pyromancies yourself. It-it can also be a source of warmth to keep the cold away. I know it isn’t much, but I want you to have it.”

Solaire hesitated.

Laurentius, overcome by humiliation over his poor gift, was about to retreat his arms and snuff out his flame when Solaire reached his hands towards him.

He was doing so with a smile.

That simple act of acceptance filled Laurentius with so much joy and gratitude that he became careless of the world around him and its dangers.

His punishment came in the form of a burning sting that pierced his shoulder. The pain spread through his entire arm and numbed it. His flame vanished, and soon he found himself collapsing on the swamp’s muddy surface.

“You are right. That puny flame isn’t much.” Lautrec’s voice reached him from afar, together with the whistle of his blades. “Better said, it’s nothing. Just a waste of my time.”

* * *

“Quelaag?”

The Fair Lady spread her arms.

Kirk, with his cuirass, gauntlets and helmet removed, got close to his Lady and accepted the embrace in her sister’s stead.

“Thank you. I feel better now.” She said as Kirk gently surrounded her with his arms. “I’m sorry for being a burden. I promise I’ll try to be strong.”

Kirk held her closer, and the Fair Lady replied in the same manner.

“It doesn’t hurt too badly. Don’t you worry.” The Fair Lady continued. “As long as I have you, I’ll be fine.”

Kirk closed his eyes.

He hoped his Lady could feel his heartbeat, and that its rhythm conveyed what his words couldn’t.


	40. Two escapes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> Thanks for reading, leaving kudos and to Mrs Littletall for the comments!!!
> 
> Hope you like the chapter!

_They are right_.

Oscar punched the solid surface one last time. Limply, his arms dropped to his sides.They burned with exhaustion. It was painful, but it was a discomfort he could endure.

He couldn’t say the same about the drenching darkness that surrounded him. It weighed on him, as if it were an ocean with no deep end. The more time he passed submerged amidst it, the more the darkness seemed to pierce into his soul.

 _I won’t’ succeed_.

He rested his forehead against the unbreakable wall he couldn’t see. He closed his eyes, or at least he thought he did. The darkness made it difficult to tell.

_We will never leave this place._

His promise to the Undead, like many other things in his life, would remain unfulfilled. He was useless, always leaving things unfinished, always disappointing the people who trusted him.

Solaire, the Undead, and his fellow elite knights.

He had failed them all.

A broken memory resurfaced to the top of his mind. Oscar held on to it, trying to decipher it, but it was too shattered to be coherent. 

_My ring_.

Oscar had almost forgotten about the little cursed trinket. In that moment, he longed for it as much as he longed for his freedom.  
Trapped inside the darkness with no way out, the mere idea of retreating into his memories was dangerously tempting. 

It was weak of him to be so easily lured by the idea, but was it wrong?

Could he really be blamed for wanting to escape from his reality, when all it gave him was never-ending despair and hopelessness?

 _Solaire_.

The memory of his friend came to him. It was clear and strong, like a ray of sunlight. It gave Oscar hope, but whatever warmth it offered was swiftly snuffed out by the darkness that surrounded him.

_You are still fighting, aren’t you? You are waiting for me to return. I know you are, but I don’t feel like fighting. I feel like giving up._

His chest spasmed violently, and a loud sob escaped him. The Undead must have heard him, but they remained silent and aloof somewhere nearby.

 _I’m weak_. 

Oscar slammed his forehead against the wall. 

_I have always been. I am an impostor, just a mishap of fate. I never should have left the Asylum. Solaire... maybe it would have been best for you if we had never met._

_“Enough with the self-pity! If you’ve given up all hope, then I ask you to go Hollow already so I can spit you out.”_

A consuming fear put a halt to Oscar’s musings. The voice echoing in his head awakened his survival instinct. His muscles went stiff and his breathing became inaudible and slow, as if he were being targeted by a raging demon.

“ _Ah, I scared you... naturally. My apologies, but you left me with no choice than to address you directly. You were souring my tongue with your bitter emotions and your tears. Please, do not scream. If the little Hollow knows I am talking to you, they’ll get upset, and they’ll never let me hear the end of it.”_

“Who—"

_“What did I just tell you, knight of Astora? Keep quiet!”_

Oscar sighed in agitation. The sob that had escaped him before felt like a blessing. Better for the Undead to think he was crying than for them know he was talking to an awful, ethereal voice.

Oscar took a deep breath, in an attempt to calm himself. His emotions were unleashed and close to being out of his control. His dread had mixed with his grief and had become infused with the darkness, resulting in a void in his soul that threatened to devour him whole.

_“What is this? I thought I told you to calm down, but you’re making it worse."_

The echoes of the voice resonated on his mind and accentuated his distress. Cold sweat, or at least the memory it, covered every pore of Oscar’s skin.

_“Enough.”_

The voice, though still repulsive and frightening, spoke to him with juxtaposing tenderness. Oscar refused it at first, but his soul and fear slowly surrendered to it, as if the voice had casted a spell upon him.

_“I can feel it. Your fear of this darkness."_

Oscar felt trapped in an invisible embrace that offered no true comfort, only a numbing calmness.

_“But the dark needn’t be feared. Contrary to what most humans believe, the dark is not evil, dangerous or destructive. Such concepts are nothing but the imaginings of the gods, foolish ideas they passed on to you. Darkness is darkness. The dark is the dark. It is peaceful, neutral; and above all, it is natural. If you are strong enough to accept this truth, darkness will do you no harm, Oscar of Astora.”_

Oscar flinched at the sound of his name, but his surprise was short-lived. It bled away from him together with his fear, as if the voice had inflicted a wound on his soul to leak the venom of his own emotionsi

The voice inside his mind chuckled almost with fondness.

_“Your despair is denser than the little Hollow’s, and its taste is much bitter. Do not worry, I’ll gladly free you of it and take it all for myself. All I ask of you in return is that you keep calm from now on. Also, would you kindly stop punching my teeth? It really hurts.”_

_Who are you?_

Oscar asked. He wished for his question to sound fierce, but his thoughts rang drowsy and emotionless, as if he had just awoken from a long sleep.

The voice made a pause, long enough for Oscar to ask a better question.

_What are you?_

_“My name is of no importance, and my nature is none of your concern. I am a being wiser, bigger and older than you; you needn’t know anything more.”_

_You are a monster_

Oscar replied. It was not an insult or an accusation. It was a simple statement. He didn’t know what else to call the voice, if it really belonged to the creature that held him and the Undead captive.

_This is not a cave. This is... this is your mouth._

_“Your former claim is inaccurate, but I’ll allow it. You don’t know any better, and your kind has called me worse things in the past. However, your latter claim is correct, knight. The place you thought was a cave is indeed my mouth."_

The creature’s casualness sparked anger and disgust in Oscar, but the darkness around him got rid of them before they could wholly manifest. 

He felt drunk, as if intoxicated by his numbness.

It was as if he was more dead than alive.

_“Ah, but you are dead. That is something that won't change if you remain in this abyss. Trust me, keeping you here was not my decision. I’d gladly spit you and allow you to go back to your pathetic Undead existence, but the little Hollow can’t let go of you. You are their everything. You invade their dreams and every thought. It’s unsettling, and I don’t understand it... but I need them to focus and cooperate, and if your presence makes them happy, then here you’ll stay.”_

_So it was you. You are the one who convinced them to linger here._

Oscar clenched his fists. Softly, he rested them against the creature’s teeth.

_“I did nothing of the sort, knight. I saved them from wandering this abyss for all eternity. I kept them here with me, for their blood makes them special in ways they don’t fathom, but staying here was their decision. I am not the brainwasher you believe me to be. Not once did the Hollow asked me to release them. They do not wish to return to life, and even if they did, it would be impossible, for their last bonfire has been destroyed. They are not my prisoner. All of this was their choice.”_

It was true. 

Oscar sought desperately for an argument to contradict the voice, but each time, the Undead’s claims were everything that came to his mind.

Their fervent wish to stay in that place forever, away from the light, away from life... it was only a more twisted version of their wish to remain trapped in the Asylum until they Hollowed.

In the end, their wish was the result of hopelessness. It was no different, Oscar realized, than his own despair and weakness. 

_“No, knight. Please, don’t shed more tears. They disgust me. Wait... what is this? They taste different. These tears are not of sorrow."_

Oscar broke the chains of indifference the voice had casted upon him. 

He screamed. 

It was not a cry of fear or grief.

His scream, like his tears, was the result of anger.

Some of it was directed at the voice, but most of it was aimed at himself. 

He channeled all his frustration on his hands and smashed his fists against the teeth before him. The voice that had only existed inside his mind transformed into an audible grunt that filled the darkness.

“I promised you I would get you of here.” Oscar addressed the silent Undead as the creature’s voice faded into the background. “I promised Solaire I would return. I cannot give up now. I don’t care what this creature says or if you hate me for it, but I’ll find a way to free you. We’ll go back to life, back to the light! Undead, this is not our grave! It is not! It is not!”

Oscar repeated his triumphant claim until his throat was raw and his fingers cracked as his punches became violent and savage. His attacks did not cease, not even after the creature let out a threatening roar that made his ears bleed.

“You impertinent fool! I swallowed your pitiful despair, I offered you wisdom, I gave you peace, and all I asked from you was for you to remain calm. Treacherous vermin, useless wretch! You are no longer allowed to reside within me. I shall deal with you no longer.”

The creature’s teeth disappeared right in front Oscar. His hands hit nothing, and before him, a thicker darkness manifested. He began to fall into that new darkness. It pulled him towards it, and Oscar would have sank into it had two arms not locked around his chest, anchoring him inside the creature’s mouth.

“No!” The Undead exclaimed, with as much anguish as if they were about to witness Oscar’s torture and execution. “He stays here with me!”

“Let him go, Hollow! I humored your wishes, but this human is not worth the trouble he causes. I want him gone. Hate me for it if you must. I couldn’t care less.”

Now that the voice had stopped being a thought and became as a real sound, Oscar saw it for what it truly was.

An unnatural, grotesque sound.

How could he have ever thought such horrible thing was soothing or calm?

“Let him go!” The creature demanded agaim. “Can’t you see he doesn’t want to be here at all? He longs to go back to his futile, meager existence. Let him return to it, I say. A worthless being like him is not deserving of our time.”

Oscar began to struggle to break free from the Undead’s grip. Their freedom stood right before them. All they needed to do was lean forward and escape the creature’s mouth. 

Just a little push and they would go back to life.

Back to Lordran and his quest.

Back to Solaire.

“Hurry.” Oscar urged the Undead, but they did not falter on keeping them both trapped inside their prison. “Chosen Undead, please!”

“Chosen Undead.” They repeated. Their hold on Oscar was as frantic as their voice. “Chosen Undead! He is the Chosen Undead!”

“The Chosen Undead?” The creature said mockingly, almost with disdain. “You ignorant fool, deluded by the traitor’s lies. That prophecy is a fairy tale, just a childish story to trick pitiful morons like him into keeping the world in its rotten state. That knight is nobody’s chosen, he is merely one of many idiots desperate to give his puny existence a raison d'être. Now, for the last time, Hollow... let go of him. Do it, or I’ll force you to.”

“He rang the bell.” The Undead exclaimed. “If you let him go back to life, he’ll ring the bell that remains. He will not give up, he will succeed! Oscar is brave, determined and skilled. He will link Gwyn’s fire! What will you do then, Kaathe? Is that what you wish to happen?”

The Undead’s words were a stab in his back. Oscar looked over his shoulder. He could see nothing, but he knew that the expression that painted the Undead’s features was not a grimace of regret, but a smile of relief.

“How?” Oscar muttered. “How could you?"

The Undead gasped under their breath and released him, but it was too late. The creature that went by the name of Kaathe had closed its mouth again.

“ENOUGH!” 

The order stole all of Oscar’s strength. He collapsed on the creature’s tongue, and so did the Undead. He could feel their body, so close to his that he could hear their senseless whisperings.

“I don’t fear your beloved knight, Hollow. He will stay, but not because I am fulfilling your wishes or because I fear his potential. I merely despise the idea of giving the traitor back one of his little pawns.” The creature Kaathe said. 

It was calm again, but there was a ruthlessness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “You will stay here with me as well, but I’ve had enough of your irreverence. I tried to be patient and understanding, but you have grown too impertinent for your own good. From now own, you’ll remain silent, as will your so-called Chosen Undead. You will have his company until the moment he Hollows. Enjoy his company for what little time he has left. That’s what you wanted, was it not?”

The Undead did answer, but their response held no meaning.

Not for Oscar nor for Kaathe.

* * *

It was not that Kaathe had forgotten the knight of Astora was the ringer of the Bell, but he hadn’t given much importance to it until the Hollow used that fact as an argument to keep the knight by their side.

The fact the Hollow had dared to address him that way, as if they were implying Kaathe didn’t care about his cause above all else, was an offense he couldn’t forgive so easily.

He was not fond of the idea of retaliation or punishment against humans. Those ignorant creatures could hardly be blamed for their behavior and stupidity, and he knew that with them , it was best to simply forgive and forget.

But the Hollow was not a being he could turn his back to and abandon. They were a being he meant to keep with him, probably for a long time. If they were cursed to be in each other’s company, then Kaathe needed the Hollow to know their place.

Not long ago, he would have gladly allowed the Hollow to spend their time peacefully with the knight.

Kaathe wouldn’t have interfered, and he would have only spat the knight out when he had Hollowed.

Who knew... if the Hollow’s mood improved greatly by having the knight by their side, Kaathe would have done all in his power to keep the knight’s Hollowing at bay for as much as he could.

He would have gladly rid the knight of all his negative emotions as many times as needed.

Not anymore.

Now, the _Chosen Undead_ and the Hollow would spend their time together without being able to move or talk to each other. 

It was not the most awful of punishments, but he knew it would be devastating for the Hollow.

_I am sorry, little Hollow._

He thought as he continued to suppress the knight’s and the Hollow’s bodies and thoughts. 

_But a lesson needs to be learned._

Truth was that the process was uncomfortable for Kaathe too, as it soured his mouth to the point where he almost gagged.

Yet, Kaathe resisted the reflex, and without pride or satisfaction, he continued with his punishment.

Somewhere, not too far away from him, a serpent let out a loud snore, and with it, a despicable phrase.

_Chosen Undead, link Gwyn’s fire._

* * *

He heard a whisper.

It came from a woman’s voice.

Alluring, enchanting, like a crimson flame.

Laurentius fell victim to its beauty. He stopped running and looked at the swamp that surrounded him. 

But he was alone, and the fleeting whisper was gone.

 _I heard you_.

He took a step forward into the thick, sticky mud of the swamp.

_Where are you?_

He moved again, but a fugitive thunder exploded right before his feet. The contained power of the miracle sent him flying.

He landed on his side, right on the arm burning with venom. The rush of pain, combined with the fresher agony of his snapped shoulder, forced Laurentius back to reality again.

The whisper was forgotten, and his world became reduced to his rotting body and the clash of swords unraveling behind him.

“Laurentius!” someone screamed.

 _Solaire_.

Laurentius looked over his shoulder.

His friend was locked in savage battle with Lautrec, the knight of Carim.

Laurentius knew what he needed to do. He was meant to go to Solaire’s side and aid him take down that despicable knight of golden armor once and for all.

The fogs of venom tricked his mind into believing he could be of use in battle, but his body reminded him of his folly when his fire refused to manifest.

But even without his fire, he couldn’t turn his back on Solaire. He had to help him, even if that meant he would have to fight Lautrec with his bare fists.

He—

Laurentius watched how Lautrec effortlessly parried one of Solaire’s attacks. His sunlight sword went up, allowing for a dagger to pierce Solaire’s shoulder.

Solaire had not the time to scream, for Lautrec followed the stab with a heavy kick on his chest.

Solaire fell on his back, his head crashing against the stone floor of the sewer, as his torso and legs sunk into the swamp’s muddied water.

Lautrec could have finished him off with a stab in the heart, but he didn’t. He looked at Solaire for a moment, and then he fixed his eyes on Laurentius.

He had the stare of a predator spotting his prey.

Threads of blood streamed down from his head to his cheeks.

Laurentius felt how his blood froze in his veins, what little hadn’t fallen victim to the venom’s toxicity.

Paralyzed by fear, Laurentius didn’t react when Lautrec took his first step in his direction. 

“Look at the mess you caused, you disgusting swamp-rat.” He exclaimed; a cruel smirk painted on his lips. “All the more reason for me to take your puny Humanity.”

Lautrec tried to take another step, but a hand on his ankle kept him where he stood. 

Solaire’s hand.

“Run, Laurentius!” He roared so loudly that his voice could be heard across the entire swamp. “Run! Don’t look back!”

Laurentius obeyed.

As he ran away, he heard the echo of Lautrec’s sole as he kicked Solaire in the head. The sound was brutal and overwhelming, but much to Laurentius’ shame, it also served to keep Solaire’s command vivid on his mind.

He ran, and he did not look back.

He ran to the only place where there were no enemies to block his way. The path guided him to a strange structure. With his body growingly unresponsive and his breathing filling with the bubbling of blood, Laurentius barely had the strength and agility left to climb on one of the rustic wooden lifts.

Once he reached the top, he kept moving forward. His coherent, logical thinking started to collapse, and it was up to his body and his instincts to get him to a safety.

Clumsily and with his only healthy arm, Laurentius climbed endless set of stairs. In many occasions he almost slipped and fell to his death. 

Blood began to flow from his nose. 

There were dead creatures everywhere. 

Whoever had killed them had saved his life.

At one point, the stairs came to an end, and Laurentius found himself standing in a dark, wide tunnel. 

He had made it.

_See, Solaire?_

Each breath felt as if he was drowning in boiling lava.  
His arm hung limply to his side. It was rotten, and it stank of infection.

And feces.

Just like the ogres that had attacked them at Blighttown’s entrance.

_I escaped. I... I am safe now. I can continue my journey, just like you will continue yours. Do you hear me, Solaire? You’ve saved me yet again._

“Solaire.”

Laurentius smiled to himself as his body lay on the cavern’s floor. He didn’t remember the moment when he had collapsed, just like he couldn’t recall the moment when two ogres, wielding clubs drenched in poison, had surrounded him.

“I will not go Hollow. Not yet.” Laurentius said, laughing as the two monsters roared and prepared themselves to crush him until nothing remained of him. “I can’t—”

He vomited a gush of blood.

The venom destroyed what little sense Laurentius could make of reality, and all he could do as he convulsed on the floor was to wait for the ogres to grant him death already.

It would be ruthless, but much swifter than any death the venom could offer him.

He heard a voice then, and for a foolish second, Laurentius thought it was Solaire’s.

Or perhaps even the same whisper he had heard in Blighttwon’s swamp.

He couldn’t tell, the same way he couldn’t make sense of the knight in strange round armor that was feeding him something, or of the two dead ogres that had perished by his blade.

* * *

“You stupid bastard! You let him get away!”

Solaire glared at Lautrec. He cared not about his insults nor about the long cut he had made on the middle of his forehead with the sole of his golden armor.

All that mattered to him was that Laurentius had managed to escape.

Solaire prayed for his friend’s safety and hoped with all his heart that he would find some moss to heal himself promptly.

Laurentius was a capable pyromancer, and the creatures of Blighttown had moss to spare. Toxified with venom as he was, Laurentius would surely kill one of those ghouls and get his hands on a cure.

Solaire was sure of it.

In any case, he would look for him as soon as his battle with Lautrec was over. Solaire would give Laurentius all the mosses he needed, just like Laurentius had done for him back at the hanging bridges and rotten structures of the entrance of Blighttown.

_I will find you, Laurentius. I will save you. You have my word._

Just like he had saved Oscar from the knight of thorns?

Solaire’s own cruelty toward himself was almost as sharp as Lautrec’s blades.

His fellow knight, his former travelling companion, stood not too far away from him, with his weapons ready to finish their battle once and for all.

Solaire prepared himself too. Without flinching, he removed Lautrec’s parrying dagger from his shoulder.

“We could have used his Humanity! We needed it more than he ever did... but now, thanks to you, we’ll never have it. You ruined it, Solaire. That’s all you do, you ruin things. That’s why you never managed to achieve anything in your past life.”

Solaire dropped the dagger. It sank in the swamp’s muddy water.

“That’s the reason Oscar died!”

Solaire answered only with a Lighting Spear born from his fury. Lautrec nimbly evaded it, but he only did so because Solaire had never meant for the miracle to hit him.

Disgraced as he was, he maintained his knightly honor. It had not been an attack, but a signal that their duel had been resumed.

With little ceremony, he and Lautrec became immersed in the heat of battle again.

Soon, their blood turned the mud underneath their feet red, and the glow of Solaire’s miracles casted a blinding light across the swamp.


	41. To heal a lasting pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup.
> 
> Thanks for reading, leaving kudos and to Mrs Littletall for the comments!
> 
> I can't believe it will soon be a year since I started this fic! I never planned for it to be this long... and right now, I dont even know how long it will be haha. Thanks to everyone who had read so far :D I really hope the quality hasn't dropped a lot... I try to keep the story interesting, but this is the longest fic I have written and sometimes I just worry lol.
> 
> If at any time you guys feel this is the case, please let me know! I plan to keep writing this story for a long while, and I want it to be good and interesting for you to read :)
> 
> Hope you like the chapter!

They saw a knight.

He was the only thing that made sense in that unknown place.

It was a city, beautiful and peaceful.

They had never been there before.

Or maybe, they had. They couldn’t know. Their memories had long become unreliable and tarnished, both by time and the curse.

Yet, as elegant and welcoming as it was, there was something wrong with the city.

It took a moment for the Hollow to understand that, other than themselves and the knight, there was no one there. They were alone.

It didn’t bother them.

When they took a step toward the knight, they feared the sound of their feet brushing against the floor would shatter their world. The silence was simply too absolute. Even their own breathing felt chaotically loud.

The knight must have heard them, but he remained unfazed by their presence. He stood where he was, still and unresponsive, as if he were made of stone.

_Oscar._

The Hollow tried to speak his name out loud, but their lips felt as if they had been sewn shut.

_You know I’m here._

They lifted an arm at his direction, eager to reach him.

Eager to make him acknowledge their existence.

_So please, don’t ignore me._

They stepped on something. The unexpected contact should have hurt , but they didn’t feel any pain.

Confused, they moved their naked foot and looked at the little obstacle that had gotten in their way.

A pebble, like those they so much loved to collect. This one, however, was peculiar.

It emitted a strong and dazzling glow, as if it was a small, wrongly colored sun. 

Lured by its warming shine, the Hollow knelt to pick it up. They would keep it forever and treasure it with all their heart.

Better yet, they would gift it to the knight.

To Oscar, the only friend they had ever—

“Don’t do that. Leave it where it is.”

They halted as soon as his voice reached their ears.

There was no anger in Oscar’s tone, but the Hollow still sprang back to their feet, as if they were a child that had gotten caught before committing some mischief.

Oscar was now facing them. He hadn’t moved from his spot.

He was standing right in front of the city’s gates.

Oscar lifted his hands and removed his helmet, unveiling his face.

His skin, just as his voice, was smooth and clean of the Hollowing.

Shyly, the Undead touched their own face, and though they couldn’t see it, they knew it looked ghastly and abhorrent, just like the rest of their body.

They were a rotten abomination.

A creature as decrepit and putrid as them did not belong in such beautiful place.

They had no right to be there.

They had no right to be before Oscar.

The impulse to run away was strong and they almost acted on it, but their treacherous body kept moving toward Oscar.

At first, they resented themselves, but truth was that their body was merely fulfilling their heart’s desire.

All they wanted was to be by Oscar’s side.

As long as he was there with them, everything would be fine.

They stepped on several other shining pebbles along the way, but they paid them no mind.

Just when they were about to reach Oscar, they stopped. The shame they had felt before returned to them, and it burned their face like fire.

Oscar looked at them in silence. 

There was no anger nor resentment in his features.

But there was bitterness.

And sadness.

_No, he is just tired and confused._

The Hollow thought. Satisfied with their own answer, they promptly embraced it as a fact.

Oscar stared at them. The Hollow thought he would ask them to come to his side, but Oscar merely turned his gaze to the city that surrounded them.

A faint smile formed on his lips.

“I never thought I would see this place again.” He said;then, he looked at the Hollow. “Do you know where we are?”

The Hollow didn’t answer. All they gave to Oscar was a negative nod of their head.

“This is my homeland.” He answered. “This is Astora.”

The revelation gave the Hollow a sudden and fervent interest for the city. They gazed at it again, excited to truly witness every detail of Oscar’s home.

The elegance of the buildings was outstanding, whether they were houses, inns or stores; the streets were well-kept, and dutifully trimmed trees adorned the sidewalks carved from white stone.

And, if they focused, the Hollow could also smell the life of the city. They closed their eyes and allowed themselves to become lost amidst a storm of scents.

They smelled the smoke coming from the chimneys, the clean water flowing across the nearby waterways, and the alluring scent of well-spiced food, like bread, meat, beer and—

_Blood._

A metallic stench flooded their nostrils.

Shocked and repulsed, the Hollow opened their eyes, only to discover that Astora had changed. It was still the same city, but the once impeccable streets were now soaked with the blood.

Dozens of corpses were scattered all over.

Each of them rested next to a shining pebble.

They all wore the same armor.

Oscar’s armor.

_Oscar!_

The Hollow couldn’t contain their grief. Their mind became convinced that those fallen warriors were all their beloved friend.

_No! No!_

They rushed to the nearest body and collapsed next to it.

_Oscar._

Tears fell from their corrupted face as they wrapped their arms around the corpse’s sides. They buried their face on the body’s chest, right on the tattered sigil of the tunic.

“Oscar.”

They were so immersed in their pain that they didn’t notice they had found their voice, nor did they remember that the real Oscar was still alive until he roughly separated them from the corpse.

With no gentleness, he forced them to stand up.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Oscar shook them by the shoulders violently. Though the movements didn’t hurt them, Oscar’s resentful tone did. “I told you not to touch them! Don’t you dare soil my comrades with your rotten hands!”

He pushed them way. After almost tripping over their feet, the Hollow could only cower and stare at Oscar like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Oscar’s face, so peaceful before, was now distorted by fury. His fair skin was almost as crimson as the blood-soaked floor.

It took a long while for his expression to mellow, and when it finally did, all the Hollow could see in his eyes was regret and disappointment.

In silence, Oscar turned his back on them. With little ceremony, he dropped to his knees and raised his head to the sunless sky above.

“Why?” Oscar said to himself. “Of all my memories, why this one?”

He looked over his shoulder.

“Is this that creature’s doing?” He asked the Hollow. “Is this the punishment he is giving me?”

The Hollow didn’t understand what he was talking about, but their heart still quivered at his words.

Oscar interpreted their silence, and he chuckled so hollowly that it sounded more like a sob than laughter.

“You don’t know.” Oscar said, almost apologetically. “Oh Undead... what has happened to you? What has that monster done to both of us?”

He turned his attention to the dead knights again, but he couldn’t look at them for long, and soon he hid his face behind his gauntlets.

“Was this our fate all along?”

Another question the Hollow couldn’t answer, but as lost as they felt, and as little sense as Oscar’s words made to them, they found the will to go by his side and kneel next to him.

Carefully, they rested their arm on Oscar’s shoulders and pressed their temple against his. He could feel how Oscar shuddered at the contact.

The Hollow feared their touch had been more disturbing than it had been comforting, and they had been about to remove their arm when Oscar uncovered his face and looked at them.

“Solaire.”

The Hollow did not react to the incorrect name.

“I’m with you, Oscar.” They told him. “That’s all I know.”

They tried to embrace him, but Oscar moved away from them.

“No.” Oscar stood up. The Hollow imitated him like a shadow. “I’m afraid it is not that simple for me.”

The Hollow looked at the fallen knights once more. Though the disturbing sight still made them wince, they could now see details they had missed before.

They noticed how heavily dismembered they corpses were. Whatever it had killed them, it had not been human.

“These knights. They were my comrades.” Oscar struggled to speak.

The Hollow wished to tell him that he did not need to explain them anything, not if it caused him so much pain; but Oscar continued, uncaring if the Hollow wanted to hear it or not.

“It happened shortly before I became Undead.”

Oscar gazed at the destroyed gates of the city, and the Hollow did the same.

“An Undead abomination attacked Astora. It killed dozens of civilians, children included, before it was finally vanquished by a group of elite knights. I was among them. I was the only one to make it out alive.”

The Undead found themselves crying . They did so not for those who had perished, but for Oscar.

Oscar continued with his story. He was free of all emotion, as if the excess of it had burned his heart and had reduced it to ashes. He rested a hand on his armored shoulder.

“A wound. My comrades died slow, agonizing deaths. Their bodies were maimed beyond recognition... and all I got from this massacre was a wound that took a couple of days to heal. I shouldn’t have survived. I was meant to die by their side, with honor, but I didn’t. And I—"

He gasped as if he was drowning. The Hollow wanted nothing more than to make him stop, but they feared their interference would be a transgression Oscar would never forgive them for.

_Haven’t I hurt him enough?_

The thought came so naturally to them that it felt trivial at first, but the Holllow felt its true weight as it lingered on their mind, like an echo that refused to disappear.

“I was so relieved that I had survived. ”

Oscar stared at his hands. His gauntlets turned dark, and from them, blood began to drop.

“Conceited coward that I was, I convinced myself that I had survived not only because of my superior skills, but also because of how important I was to the world. I was sure I had been spared from death by fate itself, as if Lord Gwyn himself had handpicked me. This tragedy... all of it had been Lord Gwyn’s way to tell me I was too valuable to die a trivial death. That I, Oscar, the most important knight in all Astora, was indeed destined to glory and greatness.”

Oscar laughed again. He covered his face with his hands, his arms trembling as the tension inside him found no real outlet.

“Empty ideas, just pathetic delusions I endlessly repeated to myself to silence my shame. My shame for my incompetence to save my comrades, my shame for being alive, my shame for believing for so long that I was an undefeatable hero, a talented knight with no equal, when all that I’ve always been is just some random fool unfairly favored by chance. My birth, my luxuries, even my rank among the elites; all of it was handed to me, none of it was earned. In the end, I am nothing but a self-important bastard, a loser incapable of justifying his haughty pride and his dreams of greatness.”

“Stop.” The Hollow pleaded. They were standing in front of Oscar. They grabbed his arms and tried to pull them down from his face before he could hurt himself, but Oscar did not budge.

Without knowing what else they could do, they grabbed Oscar by the shoulders and rested their forehead against the back of his gauntlets.

“Don’t say such things about yourself.” They muttered. They could feel how Oscar’s face twisted from behind his gauntlets. “It hurts.”

How they wished they could take all of Oscar’s pain and absorb it into themselves.

They were Hollow, rotten of mind and body, a walking corpse with no purpose, loved ones or even a life to call their own. If someone there could endure such misery and actually deserved it, it was them.

Not Oscar.

“It hurts a lot.”

“But it’s the truth.” 

Oscar’s armored fingers scratched his forehead, making it bleed. 

“A truth that became so evident to me after I saw only empty space where my comrades had once stood. And above all, after I witnessed how easily they were forgotten by the same people they had died to protect. Astoran elite knights, they can never claim any honor or glory for themselves. They are faceless knights, respected as a whole, but irrelevant on their own. Our names, our dreams, our sacrifices, they are all forgotten the moment we die. We leave nothing behind in the world other than empty space for someone else to take our place.”

Oscar revealed his eyes, and his sight became lost into the distance.

“I was always so scared the same would happen to me. I did not want to be forgotten. I was Oscar of Astora, the man that would fulfill the prophecy and become the Chosen Undead. I was destined for glory; such was my lifelong dream, and after my friends died, it became my responsibility as well. I would remember them and their sacrifices forever, and they would be in my heart as I became the hero I was born to be. As long as I kept their memories alive, they would not stop existing. As long as I remembered them and succeeded in my quest, they would be heroes too, and their deaths wouldn’t have been in vain."

Oscar's hands finally dropped from his face. His appearance had changed. He had reverted to his Half-Hollowed state; his voice wasn't spared.

"But I failed, and now, I cannot even recall their names or their faces. How disgusting of me, how awfully vain to think I was ever so worthy or important!”

The Hollow did embrace Oscar then, too desperate to know what else they could do.

Oscar failed to notice the gesture, and he continued raving, as if the last threads of his sanity were unraveling.

“It is me who should have died, not them. It should have been me. They died and I lived. They fought the Undead beast; I merely delivered the killing blow.They were heroes, and they were forgotten. They were my friends, and I couldn’t even mourn their deaths. The code forbade it, and I was stupid enough to follow it without ever questioning it. I should have known better, I should have been better, but I wasn’t. I was... I am just Oscar, a failed elite knight of Astora; the pretentious, selfish, greedy bastard who never in his life proved he was worthy of his fortune or his arrogance."

The Hollow could feel his heartbeat racing even through his armor.

“I should have died in Astora. I should have died at the Asylum. I should have died and be forgotten. That’s all I ever deserved. It should have been me."

Agitated, the Hollow placed a hand on Oscar’s chest, right above where his Darksign was. Oscar hissed and flinched as if he had been branded with a red-hot iron, and suddenly his entire weight fell on the Hollow’s arms. Unprepared for it, the Hollow succumbed to the weight, and soon both them and Oscar dropped to their knees.

Without understanding what had happened, but pleased by Oscar’s sudden calmness, the Hollow pressed their hand closer to him. Their fingers tickled, as if an exchange of energies were taking place.

The Hollow didn’t know who the giver was or who was receiving, just like they didn’t know what was being exchanged in the first place.

Memories?

Pain?

Indifference?

Or perhaps, it was something entirely different. Maybe, they thought, it was nothing at all. It was only an illusion, just like that Astora with its nonexistent sun.

“Chosen Undead.” Oscar whispered, limply surrounding them with an arm. Though his voice had turned monstruous again, for the Hollow it was nothing but soothing. “Solaire.”

“He is not here.” The Hollow corrected him. “Solaire doesn’t exist here, and neither does Astora nor your past. They are only shattered memories, a bad dream.”

The city around them began to disappear, as if it were a mound of dust against a blow of wind.

“Let go of it, Oscar.” They kept their hold on him as the floor beneath them vanished.

They began their slow descent back to their pitch-black reality.

The two of them woke from the dream at the same time. They had returned to the sanctuary that was Kaathe’s mouth.

The Hollow couldn’t see Oscar, but they could feel his body against theirs. They were still joined in the same embrace they had shared in the dream.

The Hollow’s hand continued to rest on Oscar’s Darksign.

“Let go.” The Hollow insisted. “And stay with me forever in this peaceful darkness.”

Oscar’s breathing quickened. He grabbed the Hollow’s hand.

At first, they thought it was a gesture of acceptance and gratitude, but big was the Hollow’s surprise when Oscar forcefully removed their hand from his chest.

He then backed away from them. The Hollow did not want to let go of him, but they allowed it, knowing well that Oscar would remain by their side regardless.

There was no escape from the serpent’s mouth or that abyss.

“What did you do?” Oscar asked. He was afraid and disconcerted, but his sadness and grief were gone. “What have you done to me?”

“I don’t know.” The Hollow curled up, hugging their legs against their chest. They were crying, but they were also smiling. “But whatever it was, I’m glad I did it.”

Oscar said something else, but the Hollow, too drunk with emotion, could hadly hear him.

It hurt.

But that bleeding pain was now theirs alone.

Oscar was free from it.

For the Hollow, that was all that mattered.

* * *

Kaathe wasn’t a vengeful being.

Despite his annoyance toward the knight for his impertinence, it had never been Kaathe’s intention to cause him so much pain.

He had believed that mending a broken memory would make the knight of Astora happy, perhaps even grateful.

Kaathe could feel it, how much the knight suffered about the memories the Hollowing had taken away from him.

It was only logical for Kaathe to think that, if he showed the knight kindness and helped him recover one of his broken memories, he would earn the knight’s trust.

And to show the Hollow that he was not an unreasonable or heartless, Kaathe had also allowed them to join the knight inside the mended memory in the form of a dream.

But the results couldn’t have been more catastrophic, and what should have been a moment of peace and camaraderie had transformed into a moment of despair.

The recovered memory had almost driven the knight to his complete Hollowing. It would have happened, had the little Hollow not intervened.

_“So, you can do it too?”_

Kaathe said exclusively to the Hollow.

_“For us serpents, it is only natural, and so was for the Furtive Pygmy. He despised it, but you... you seem to adore it. It's ironic that you, a creature that so fervently wishes to have never been born, enjoy so much the pain you extract from others. Is this how it is, little Hollow? Or do you simply are fond of that bundle of pain because it is a part of your dear knight of Astora?”_

The Hollow didn’t answer. They were too lost amidst a cloud of grief that didn’t belong to them.

Kaathe thought of getting rid of it and take it all from himself. It would embitter his tongue and throat, but human emotions, no matter how powerful, weren’t something he couldn’t handle.

In the end, he decided against it.

The little Hollow, rather than resenting the foreign grief, was thrilled by it. And it was obvious they treasured it, just as much as they treasured the Astoran knight.

As for the knight, though he remained terribly confused and disconcerted, he was now calm. Perhaps numb was a better word to describe him, but that was irrelevant.

As long as he caused no more trouble, Kaathe didn’t care if the little Hollow, in their desperate attempt to free him from his pain, had accidentally left him barren of all emotion.

And as for Kaathe himself, he was at peace too. His tongue would no longer be sour, and both the Hollow and the knight were docile, quiet and at peace.

Just like they should have been from the very start.

* * *

The thrill of battle had cured him of his grief.

The Fire keeper soul he had refused to take, Fina’s abandonment and her cruel words, and even the memory of his first lady; all of it was erased from his mind and replaced by the animal satisfaction of fighting to the death.

It was a euphoric stupor that only the risk of losing his life could grant. To be at the edge of death, as violence unfolded around him, was beyond intoxicating.

His heart raced, feeding his muscles with the savage energy he needed to keep up with Solaire’s attacks.

The Astoran was strong and lethal, and even more so after Lautrec had awoken his anger by poisoning his little friend, that pathetic pyromancer.

The swamp rat was most likely dead already somewhere. Lautrec couldn’t suppress a smile when he imagined his pitiful corpse rotting from the inside out with toxicity and venom.

It was an agonizing death; the only one the pyromancer deserved.

He had earned it the moment he had dared to talk back to Lautrec the Embraced.

_You knew nothing about me, swamp rat. If you had known your place, I would have given you a painless demise. Alas, you dug you own grave; I merely buried you in it._

Lautrec laughed. It was inappropriate, even more so when one of Solaire’s miracles had just landed on the left side of his cuirass.

Golden metal plates flew all around him as if it were raining gold. Among the broken pieces of his armor was one of Fina’s metal arms.

_My lady._

His dulled grief suddenly returned to Lautrec in all its intensity.

With his eyes blurry with tears, Lautrec tried to catch the destroyed arm of his goddess, but Solaire stabbed him on his unprotected shoulder before he could reach it.

The weapon pierced Lautrec’s flesh, bones and muscles. The blade emerged from his back, soaked with his blood.

The attack was not over, and Solaire kept pushing until he mercilessly pinned Lautrec down on the swamp’s muddy surface.

Lautrec did not register the pain until the filth and waste of the swamp leaked into his wound, cauterizing it with infection and sickness.

He screamed.

Still showing no mercy, Solaire kicked Lautrec’s helmet off. He discarded his own as well, and without pronouncing as single word, he pushed his sword deeper into Lautrec’s shoulder.

_Defeated by the stupidest Astoran of them all._

Lautrec thought as he screamed louder. Thankfully, his agony soon became nullified by shock and his humiliation.

He looked at Solaire. The idiot was gravely injured as well; his body was ridden with riposting injuries, all mementos of Lautrec’s shotel swords.

Most of them had been the result of parried attacks. Solaire had tried to apply the same tactic against Lautrec, but his parrying skills were an utter disgrace.

Unlike Lautrec, Solaire was clumsy. He lacked finesse in his style.

Unlike Lautrec, he wasn’t nimble, cunning or fast.

But he was strong and relentless.

He was more powerful and resistant than Lautrec had ever fathomed.

_And those cursed miracle of his..._

Lautrec chuckled with bitterness as the mud glued his arms, torso and legs to the swamp with an unbreakable suction, as if it wanted to swallow him whole.

_This is it for me._

Lautrec had always dreaded that moment; the moment of defeat. And it had come to him in the worst manner possible: at the hands of a Astoran.

To add to his humiliation and despair, his lady Fina was no longer there to hold him as he died his final death.

He had failed her.

He had not been able to protect her or make her happy.

_I was already dead. I died the moment you abandoned me._

Solaire’s face soon became all Lautrec could see. Rather than spitting at him or curse his name, Lautrec dedicated to the Astoran a wide, defiant smile.

“What’s wrong? Do you plan to stare at me as I go Hollow? Or are you simply not man enough to finish me off?”

Solaire flinched, and for a second, the fury in his face hesitated.

“You are pathetic.” Lautrec declared, disgusted by how easily the Astoran was persuaded into pity. 

He would never accept it. He would rather rot in the most hellish of pits for all eternity than to be the receiver of Astoran’s mercy.

Oscar had already put him through such a humiliating trial by saving his life back at the slums.

Lautrec would not allow Solaire to do the same to him.

He would bite his own tongue off and bleed to death before it could happen.

“Why?” Solaire muttered raggedly. Violently, he grabbed Lautrec by his exposed neck and forced him up as much as he could. “Why did you do it?”

Solaire let go of his sword and joined his hand with the one griping Lautrec’s throat.

Lautrec could feel his contained strength and fury, and he knew that Solaire could easily crush his throat like an eggshell if he wanted to.

But the Astoran, being the weak man that he was, didn’t do so.

“Why did you attack Laurentius?” Solaire exclaimed. “All he ever did was trying to help us! He was my friend! And you just attacked him without reason!”

“He was abandoning us.” Lautrec replied with what little breath he could muster. “He would not be of use to us anymore. The least that useless wretch could do before he parted from us was to gift us all his Humanity. We kept him alive; he was in our debt. I merely was making sure he repaid it... but you ruined everything.”

“He owed us nothing.” Solaire hissed, tightening his grip on Lautrec’s throat.

The knight of Carim began to gasp desperately for air.

“He was our companion! But you don’t care about any of that, do you? No... for you, we are all just tools you can use and discard to satisfy your wicked, twisted needs! I thought you were a vile and selfish man, but I was wrong. You are nothing but a monster, Lautrec. I should have never freed you from that cell! I wish you had Hollowed in the slums!”

“But I didn’t.” Lautrec knew that taunting Solaire in his current state was a death sentence, but he didn’t care.

He would Hollow soon anyway; he might as well have fun one last time at the expense of an Astoran.

Oh, how his two ladies had loved such pastime.

A merciless grin appeared on his lips.

“And it was all thanks to you. If I made it this far, it is because you made it happen. Do not blame me, Solaire. I did what I had to, and I do not regret it. Do you hate me because my actions caused you pain? Please, as if your own hands were clean. Hide behind your ridiculous ideals of chivalry and camaraderie all you want, like you fucking Astorans always do, but know that you have caused as much suffering and death in this world as I have. After all, you are a knight just like me, are you not?

“You are not a knight.” Solaire stuttered. His fingers were faltering, allowing Lautrec to breathe better. “You are a murderer.”

“A murderer.”

Lautrec repeated in amusement.

“No. I am a survivor, a knight that never feared to do what was necessary to fulfill his duty... just like you. The only difference is that we Carim knights don’t go around preaching fake empathy and mercy. We take what we need from those who have it. If we kill, it is because we have proven we are stronger and fitter to survive. If we betray, loot, plunder or destroy, it is only to make sure our honor prevails, and that our ladies remain safe and satisfied. My actions were never without a reason, Solaire. And after witnessing what your phony kindness has caused to others and to yourself, I now know for sure that Carim has always been wiser than Astora.”

Solaire slowly lowered Lautrec’s head back to the swamp. Would he drown him, or would he break his neck?

Lautrec couldn’t tell, but either way, he would not Hollow before he made sure that cursed Astoran was aware of the consequences of his idiocy.

It would be his parting gift, a memento from a knight of Carim to a moron of Astora.

Oh, how Fina would have approved of it.

_My lady._

Lautrec almost swore he could feel her breath against his ear, but it was only the swamp’s water as it covered his head until only his face remained above the surface.

“Oscar died because of you.”

Lautrec stated as Solaire stared at him, his blue eyes surrounded by dripping blood that flowed from his forehead.

His blond hair was dirty and no longer neatly tied. It fell from his head in thick threads, giving him the appearance of a savage.

It was an improvement from his usual look. Lautrec dared to say he looked almost respectable now.

“Had you followed your mind and not your weak heart, you wouldn’t have fallen for the tricks of an insane woman. The knight of thorns wouldn’t have caught Oscar off-guard, and you wouldn’t have been cursed by the breath of a basilisk. If you hadn’t freed me from my cell, I wouldn’t have caused you and Oscar so much grief, and I wouldn’t have killed the pyromancer. Do you see now, Solaire? All that has gone wrong has been because of you. Your kindness is a disease. Your stupidity is a curse. It is you who killed Oscar and Laurentius. Not me, nor that man-eating woman or that opportunistic knight. It was you. It has always been you. You are a plague, a bad omen that brings only misfortune to those around you.”

One of Solaire’s hands departed from Lautrec’s throat. 

Solaire then picked something from the floor before raising his hand high. The hand became a fist, and Lautrec distinguished the figure of a talisman on Solaire’s palm.

The fist then became surrounded by lighting, which started to shape in the form of an ethereal spear.

Lautrec knew what would follow.

He did not close his eyes or accepted his death in peace.

That was not the way of a knight of Carim.

A true knight of Carim always stared at Death and his enemies right in the eye.

_My lady Fina, please... when I die, embrace me. Keep me with you for all time. I know I failed you, but my love and devotion for you are eternal. Trust me when I say that, if I had the chance to make things right, I would._

The sound of roaring thunder became as deafening as blinding became the spear’s glow.

Solaire’s hand came crashing down, with the same impetus of a blacksmith plunging his hammer against the anvil.

_Fina?_

The thunderous echo of a clashing miracle resonated across the swamp.

* * *

She felt it.

She heard it.

And so had her sister’s knight.

He had rushed out of her secret chamber with his sword in hand.

Quelaag almost found the knight’s protective instinct toward her sister charming, but she had long learned that humans were not worthy of any sort of appreciation.

They were selfish, cruel and unpredictable creatures, and knights were among the most despicable.

Over many years, she had witnessed the cruelty they so joyfully inflicted on those they were meant to help and protect.

The habitants of the nearby slums knew it well, and the few humans that had survived such atrocities, although with their minds perpetually scarred, were lucky enough to be bearers of Quelaag’s indifference.

As long as they did not provoke her, Quelaag didn’t attack them. It was a silent agreement among them, and a much more merciful treatment than any other human, alive or Undead, ever received if they dared to enter her domain.

Her mercy was so exclusive that it didn’t extend to her sister’s servants.

Eingyi was the exception, and that was only because he never left her sister’s side, but the rest of them were not safe from being killed by Quelaag’s own hand if she considered they had wicked intentions toward her sister.

The knight of thorns was no different, regardless of his supposedly unyielding devotion for her sister.

“What happened?” he asked. With unearned trust, he approached her. “Are you injured?”

Quelaag kept him at bay with a roar of the deformed spider that was her lower body.

The knight stopped, but he didn’t cower in fear or stepped back.

He had always been so impudent and impertinent. Quelaag would have killed him then if she didn’t have another fool to worry about.

Another human, most likely Undead, unremarkable in every way except for the powerful energy they had casted.

Quelaag knew that energy well.

It had been miracle, similar but not identical to Lord Gwyn’s and his wayward son’s.

It was that nearby stranger who now required all her attention.

The knight of thorns could wait.

Quelaag dedicated one last glare to her sister’s knight. Then, she began moving to the center of her cobweb-ridden lair.

She knew the stranger would soon enter her domain. No doubt they were another pretentious fool seeking to become the _Chosen Undead._

Quelaag scoffed, amused.

Their delusions were almost pitiable, and though their intrusions were also bothersome at times, Quelaag did not resent them.

The indoctrinated Undeads were, after all, the perfect source of Humanity her sister so much needed.

By killing them, Quelaag knew she was doing them a favor.

She was giving meaning to their wasted lives.

She was granting them the honor to die for her sister’s sake.

Most of them died cursing her as her fire charred their bodies. It was a shame, for they should have died thanking her instead.

Alas, humans were ungrateful creatures.

And knights were the worst of them all.

She prepared her Chaos blade. It soon would be fed with Undead’s blood.

“I’ll fight by your side.” The knight of thorns said.

Quelaag’s lower body expressed her indignation in the form of a feral grow. She calmed the beast down, petting it.

She did not look back at the knight.

Her silence spoke for itself, but the knight of thorns dared to address her again.

“That shockwave we felt... it came from a Lighting Spear, didn’t it?”

Quelaag almost laughed, but she gave the knight no answer. It wasn’t her duty to cure him of his ignorance and stupidity.

“If it did,” the knight continued after it became obvious his question would remain unanswered, “then I think I know the man that casted it. He is an Astoran, a Warrior of Sunlight. We crossed ways back in the Depths.”

Quelaag did not care if the stranger was a member of the traitorous son’s covenant, but him being Astoran was a welcome perk.

He would have plentiful Humanity to offer her sister.

“He is dangerous.” The knight of thorns sounded ashamed, as if there was something else he didn’t dare to confess to Quelaag. “I can’t let you fight him on your own.”

“You will return to my sister’s chamber,” Quelaag turned around swiftly, the legs of her spider tracing firey lines on the floor. She pointed her blade at the knight, “and you will remain by her side, where you belong.”

The knight did not obey, and he took a step closer to Quelaag. To punish his transgression, her spider spat fire, blocking the way between her and the knight.

The knight retreated, burned by the overbearing heat of the fire even if it didn’t touch him.

“You are my sister’s servant.” Quelaag said. “It is your duty to protect her and tend to her needs. Do not forsake your post now, unless you want me to end your pitiful existence.”

“I have not forgotten!” The knight exclaimed. “If I am here right now, willing to fight by your side, it is not because I fear for your life, daughter of Chaos! I do this only for the sake of your sister, for my lady. Your death would be more than she can bear.”

“My death?” Quelaag was so perplexed by the insinuation that she forgot about her boiling anger toward the knight. “Are you implying that this Astoran you talk about is capable of slaying me? Oh, you innocent, dim-witted man. What you say is blasphemy, and if you don’t hold your tongue this instant, I’ll make you pay the consequences of your irreverence.”

“It is not blasphemy; it is a proven truth. Or do you think I have not noticed the pathetic state your latest opponents have left you in?”

Enough.

Quelaag would have killed him, but it was only because of the sweet voice of her sister that she didn’t.

Her weakened, mournful whispers came flowing from her secret chamber.

_Quelaag? My dear sister..._

Quelaag’s arm dropped limply to her side. The spider that was her lower body softly cried out the pain she couldn’t express through tears.

_Where are you?_

The fire between her and the knight disappeared. He too had reacted to her sister’s voice, and when he spoke again, he did so with a kindness that Quelaag thought inexistant in a knight’s heart.

“Please, allow me to fight by your side. Let us protect her together.”

Quelaag gazed at the knight. For the first time since he had first appeared in her domain, Quelaag noticed how beautiful his suit of thorns really was.

Not because it was pleasant to the eye, but for the message it conveyed.

It was not the armor of a killer, she realized.

It was the armor of a protector.

But the creature that dwelled inside it was still human.

It was a pity, but everyone had their place in the world.

Deformed as she had become, she was a witch of Izalith still, and she hadn’t fallen so low for her to accept a mortal’s help.

“Go back to her.” Quelaag said before she tuned her back on the knight. “And keep her safe. That is my wish and my command, knight of thorns. Go, and once the fight is over, I shall join you and my sister.”

The matter was settled, and her decision was absolute.

The knight of thorns remained silent.

Quelaag believed he would defy her yet again, perhaps even attack her in a fit of fury so proper of knights.

She remained alert, and she only relaxed when she heard the echo of the knight’s steps as he returned to the safe confines of her sister’s hidden sanctuary.


	42. Think of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone!
> 
> Thanks for reading, leaving kudos and to Mrs Littletalll for the comments!
> 
> I hope you like the chapter!

“Siegmeyer, you are aware I am a blacksmith, right?”

“Of course! I know well what your craft is, my friend. How could I ever forget? No, seriously, how could I forget, when this parish is always filled with the cursed clinking of your hammer? I could hear it when I was at the fortress’ entrance and at the church’s roof; I can hear it in my dreams. It is always there, resonating menacingly. You have really ruined the peacefulness of my naps, so thank you for that, you sod.”

“Then why?” Andre put down his hammer, dusted off his gloves and stood up. He walked to Siegmeyer, who smiled at him unfalteringly. “Why do you insist on bringing injured men to my workshop as if I were a bloody healer? First it was Oscar and Solaire, and now it is this poor bastard. I repair weapons, not people!”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Siegmeyer casually dismissed the accusations before kneeling next to the unconscious man.

He removed one of his gauntlets and put a hand on the other man’s forehead. He had a fever, but the convulsions caused by his heavy intoxication were gone.

Siegmeyer had fed him the last of his moss clumps. At first, he had thought it had been too late, and that the lad would die in his arms.

But he hadn’t.

It was only natural, Siegmeyer realized, after noticing the man was a pyromancer, judging by his attire and features.

Pyromancers were indeed quite resistant to all sort of poisons and venoms.

Some said it was a natural consequence of their way of life, a change shaped and forced into them by the environment of their homeland, the Great Swamp.

This idea was often expressed with much less gracious terms. It was one of the many reasons why pyromancers were often thought of as unappealing, weird, and off-putting, and were easily shunned by others.

Those foolish prejudices Siegmeyer had never understood nor shared.

“It is obvious he has gone through a lot.” He said to Andre. “Let him rest here for a while, so he can recover.”

“But why here? Why on my workshop?” Andre insisted. “Now my plans for a peaceful evening crafting new weapons in solitude are ruined!”

“First of all, this building is not only your workshop, it is a parish. It doesn’t belong exclusively to you.”

Andre scoffed and folded his arms. He pouted, muttering something unintelligible.

The only phares Siegmeyer could understand were _“you got some nerve”_ , _“but my plans”_ and _“stupid and bumbling sir Onion”._

“I heard that!” Siegmeyer exclaimed, resenting his bruised honor. “You have crossed the line, Andre of Astora! Catarina and Astora are allies no longer! Now we fight!”

“You already said that before, you fool.” Andre said, rolling his eyes. “And we’ve fought too... if you can call me watching you flap your arms around like a fish a fight in the first place.”

“You lie; that didn’t happen!” Siegmeyer replied fiercely as he refreshed his memory. He blinked twice. “Or did it?”

“Yes, it did. You then began to reminisce about Oscar, Solaire and your family, and then you cried and passed out... but not without throwing up all over the floor first. Good thing you didn’t have your helmet on. Still, it took me a long while to get you and the floor all cleaned up.”

“Oh.” Siegmeyer scratched the back of his head. “Then why I don’t remember any of that?”

“Because you were drunker than a sailor in high tide.”

“Well, if I am only a joke for you, then I’m leaving.” Siegmeyer stated. He grabbed the pyromancer by the arms and began to pull him toward him. “And I’m taking him with me. You will never see us again.”

“Oi, careful! You are handling him as if he were a sack of potatoes!” Andre exclaimed, and he quickly ran to Siegmeyer’s side.

He gently took the pyromancer from Siegmeyer’s hands and returned him to his previous position, with his back softly resting against the wall.

“Alright, alright, he can stay. Now calm yourself down, Siegmeyer.” Andre said as he stood up after making sure the pyromancer was as comfortable as possible. “By the gods, and people say Astorans are the sensitive ones!”

“It is not about sensitivity; it is a matter of honor.” Siegmeyer corrected, folding his arms and turning his back on Andre. “You have offended me. You broke our friendship, you tarnished our camaraderie, you—”

“I’m sorry, alright?” Andre said.

Siegmeyer turned around.

His angry expression instantly became a sunny smile.

“Oh... well, I cannot refuse an apology so genuine.” Siegmeyer took one of Andre’s hands and shook it. “All is well, my friend. Astora and Catarina shall remain allies after all!”

Andre sighed, apparently sullen, but Siegmeyer could see he had a small smile on his lips. 

Then, the pyromancer made a sound.

It was only a tiny groan, but it was enough for Andre and Siegmeyer to end their handshake and rush to his side.

It was Siegmeyer who knelt next to him again, while Andre remained standing up to his side.

The pyromancer opened his eyes. They were bloodshot and lost, still resenting the effects of his healed infection.

He gasped for air, sentencing himself to a violent coughing fit. Once it passed, he looked at Siegmeyer and Andre, noticing them for the first time.

His breathing quickened, as if he was in the presence of a horde of Hollows.

“It’s alright.” Siegmeyer said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me.”

He waited for the pyromancer’s eyes to become fixed on his own.

“You are safe.” Siegmeyer reassured him. “You were dying from poisoning and intoxication. Some ogres attacked you too, but I killed them. Then, I fed you moss and brought you here, to the Undead parish. I’m Siegmeyer, a knight of Catarina. This is Andre, blacksmith of Astora; don’t let his looks deceive you. Behind that ugly mug and scarred muscles beats a kind heart.”

“Oi, I’m standing right here!” Andre complained.

Siegmeyer chuckled. The pyromancer remained alert, with his eyes wide open in fear.

“You needn’t worry.” Siegmeyer slowly moved his hand from the pyromancer’s shoulder to the top of his head, as he used to do whenever his daughter Sieglinde became upset. “It’s all passed. You are safe now.”

“Where is he?” The pyromancer asked. His words were rushed and anxious.

Siegmeyer was taken aback by the unexpected demand.

“I -I have-to help him...” The pyromancer continued, immersed in his feverish delusions.

With dull eyes and a vacuous expression, he pushed away Siegmeyer’s hand from his head and stood up. His legs shook as if they would break in half.

“He-He needs...” The pyromancer took a step toward the stairs.

He collapsed.

Siegmeyer tried to catch him before he hit his head on the stone floor, but he failed to reach him.

It was Andre who caught the pyromancer. He held him with arm, carrying all his weight with no visible effort, as if he was holding a feather and not a man.

He did so with a gentleness that juxtaposed with his imposing, towering frame.

Siegmeyer hurried to their side, with his Estus flask already on his hand. Luckily, the pyromancer had not fainted, and though his exhaustion was almost tangible, he looked more aware and grounded on reality than before.

“Take it easy, lad.” Siegmeyer told the pyromancer as he slowly began to feed him a small dose of Estus. “You haven’t recovered your strength yet.”

The pyromancer swallowed the elixir at a glacial pace. Siegmeyer fed him only half of his flask. He would have gladly let him have all of it, but it was the pyromancer who decided he’d had enough. 

He swung his head abruptly to one side, causing some Estus to spill on his chest and on Andre’s forearm.

“He...” The pyromancer insisted, staring at Andre and Siegmeyer as he struggled to remain awake. “He-he is in danger.”

“Who?” This time, it was Andre who talked. “Who is in danger?”

The pyromancer licked his lips and drew breath.

“My friend.”

The rest of the answer died in his mouth. He lost himself in the darkness of unconsciousness. Andre and Siegmeyer looked at each other, both equally confused, as the pyromancer fell asleep on Andre’s arm.

* * *

Before he lost sense of his reality, Laurentius thought of the name that had remained unspoken.

It echoed on his mind like the toll of a distant bell.

_Solaire._

* * *

Laurentius was gone.

Solaire had looked for him. He had climbed to the top of the wooden structure, and he had found an exit of Blighttown. It was a tunnel, riddled with the dead ogres.

He had almost felt hopeful then, as he had thought that Laurentius had been the one who had killed them.

Solaire had believed his friend was still around nearby.

Injured, poisoned, scared, but alive.

He carried with him all the moss clumps Laurentius had given him back at the bonfire.

He could heal him.

He could save him.

Or so he had thought, and he had been an idiot for thinking so.

Laurentius was nowhere to be found, and further inspection on the ogres’ bodies had revealed that they hadn’t perished by fire, but by the sharp touch of a sword.

Solaire didn’t care about who had been responsible for their deaths. All that was relevant for him was Laurentius’ disappearance.

He knew well what it meant.

Laurentius, whether he had succumbed to his toxic poisoning or had been killed by the ogres, was dead.

Solaire had been too late.

His encounter with Lautrec had been for nothing.

In the end, he hadn’t been able to save Laurentius.

He had failed, just like he had failed to save Oscar.

_I’m a failure._

Solaire thought as he filled his Estus flask. His tunic was reduced to rags; he was covered from head to toe with the swamp’s mud, filth and his own blood, and some of Lautrec’s too.

His helmet was dented and dirty; his sword, though still sharp, had lost all its shine, just like his shield. The sun painted on its surface now felt more like a ridiculous mockery than a badge of honor.

His hair was matted and loose. Solaire had no way to tie it up again.

He couldn’t look at his appearance, but he knew that he looked more like a common ruffian than a knight.

There was a time when Solaire would have never allowed himself to bear such semblance; now, his looks and the state of his equipment meant nothing to him.

Once his flask was full, Solaire secured it in a bag around his waist. Inside the pouch, his fingers discovered something he had long forgotten about.

He held it with two fingers and placed it right before his eyes.

Oscar’s ring, the one that hid his Hollowed appearance and allowed him to make more sense of his broken memories.

Oh, how much unnecessary grief Solaire had given to Oscar because of it.

He had despised the idea of his friend using a cursed artifact born from someone else’s suffering to heal his own pain; but he had despised even more how Oscar seemed to prefer to his past, a past where both of them had been nothing but strangers, rather than to accept his present where they were friends.

_I was so selfish and immature. I said such awful, cruel things to you... and yet, you still forgave me and allowed me to continue being your friend. Me, the hypocrite whose blood is now tainted by the permanent effects of a cursed stone. Compared to what I’ve done to cure myself from the basilisk’s curse, this little ring is nothing._

The more he remembered how irrational and pious he had been, the more Solaire hated himself.

He felt a growing, uncontrollable anger boiling inside.

It remained trapped inside him without an outlet, until it faded away on its own.

Solaire was not surprised.

His grief for Laurentius had subsided the same way, silent and unexpressed.

Solaire had simply no tears left to shed his pain or screams to bleed his fury.

He was empty.

He returned the ring to his bag. Next to it, secured by his belt and folded in a tight cylinder, was Oscar’s tunic.

Solaire traced his knuckles along it.

He had promised Oscar he would mend his tunic.

Just another of Solaire’s many failures and unfulfilled promises.

“I have failed in every aspect of my life.”

Solaire said to himself as he gave the tunic one last caress with the back of his hand. Then, he began his march toward the strange cave at the end of the swamp, where the second bell of Awakening was waiting for him.

Or so the crestfallen warrior had claimed.

Solaire remembered the sullen man. He felt something for his memory, but the sentiment was quickly forgotten and put aside.

He stopped when he reached the entrance of the sewer and looked over his shoulder.

The bonfire’s flames did not flicker, and from it, Laurentius never emerged.

_He is dead._

The realization should have hurt more than it did.

Perhaps, it really did, but Solaire couldn’t tell, and he left that bonfire behind him for good.

_As a son, as a knight, as Warrior of Sunlight, as a protector, as friend... as all of them, I’ve failed. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always been alone. For a failure like me, loneliness is the only way._

He continued walking, his feet sinking into the swamp with every step.

He made a pause as he reached Lautrec’s side.

The knight of Carim, his former traveling companion, remained stuck in the swamp’s mud, in the same position Solaire had left him. His gaze was lost into the distance; his mouth moved, forming senseless words Solaire couldn’t hear.

Blood oozed from Lautrec’s right ear.

Not too far away from his head, there was a giant hole in the floor. It was slowly filling with water. Thin threads of lighting energy still traveled across the water’s surface like tiny eels.

Solaire looked emotionlessly at his defeated opponent. After all Lautrec had done, death was a fitting punishment.

But Solaire would not be the one to grant it to him.

“You fought by our side.” He said to Lautrec. “You saved us from Petrus, you traveled with us, you helped Oscar save me from the Black knight.”

Lautrec kept talking to himself like a madman, too lost in his delirium to even acknowledge Solaire’s presence.

His current state was Solaire’s doing.

He had driven him to madness with his display of unchecked violence and by showing him Death in the form of divine lighting power.

He had also, Solaire realized, deafened him.

When he had changed the course of his attack in the last second, the contained energy of his Lighting Spear had sent an awful shockwave across the entire swamp.

Solaire’s own ears had rung sharply for a long while.

Lautrec hadn’t come out so unscathed from their fight.

Not only his hearing was lost, but also his mind.

Fear, horror, anger, frustration, humiliation; Solaire had drenched Lautrec in all of them.

He would go Hollow soon.

“Maybe,” Solaire told him without emotion, “this was your fate all along.”

Solaire dedicated one last glance to Lautrec before leaving him behind. His heart felt something for Lautrec when he coughed and gurgled behind his back, but the sentiment died when the sounds were followed only by silence.

_Is this all?_

Ogres wielding giant rocks as weapons spotted Solaire and attacked him.

He answered with silent aggression, with both his sword and miracles reducing his enemies to corpses in a matter of seconds.

The return of his miracles was in itself a question without an answer. Solaire’s faith had long abandoned him; yet, his miracles were stronger than ever.

They exploded with a thunderous power that hadn’t been there before; their glow and form had changed too. It felt rawer, as if each spear was a sentient being that would only obey him if Solaire made them yield to his will by proving he was strong enough.

They were rebellious and chaotic, but also highly destructive and effective. They had saved Solaire from the gaping dragon, and they had allowed him to defeat Lautrec with relative ease.

_But they didn’t save Oscar or Laurentius._

Soon, Solaire found himself surrounded by dead enemies. His breathing and heartbeat were racing, not from exhaustion, but out of anger.

His blood froze in his veins as an epiphany lightened his mind.

Was that the answer, then?

Anger?

Could an emotion so petty really fuel his miracles in a way faith never had done?

_Was my faith so weak from the start?_

Solaire almost dropped to his knees and succumbed to despair. It was only because of his duty that he found the strength to keep going.

Yet, as he made his way to the entrance of a strange cave covered in cobwebs, his thoughts continued to echo inside him.

_Was it all a lie? A delusion? My life, my existence, my ideals, my journey... have they all been for nothing?_

The heat of the cave instantly caused his forehead to become covered in sweat. Solaire did not remove his helmet; he knew danger lurked nearby, even if he couldn’t see it yet.

It was a lesson he had learned the hardest of ways. The crestfallen had warned him, but Solaire hadn’t listened.

The crestfallen warrior, he realized, had been wiser in ways Solaire could never be.

And maybe, if he hadn’t been so naïve and stupid, if only he had listened to that old warrior from the very start, Oscar would still be alive.

If Solaire had known better, Oscar would be by his side, and his own sun would still be a shining star and not a fading sunset without shape or form.

_Has my life been nothing but a waste?_

Solaire thought, completely ignoring the cursed creatures that inhabited the cave. They were glued to the floor by the foul-smelling and gigantic lumps that grew on their backs.

Despite their abhorrent appearance, they were harmless. Solaire did not attack them.

He was too consumed by his own misery to really care about those poor creatures.

Yet, Solaire was not at peace. His mind was restless, as if it was eager to make him remember his entire life so he could see how meaningless it had been.

Solaire at first thought it was a punishment, but a part of him knew it was only the truth.

His reality.

And truth was, that his suspicions were right.

His life had been a waste, He had brought nothing of worth to the world with his birth.

In life, he had failed to fulfill his dreams. And now that he was Undead, he had failed to find his sun.

In the end, he was only an idiot incapable of truly helping others or being useful.

_I have no purpose. I am lost._

Solaire stopped. At some point during his dark musings, he had reached another entrance. This one marked the end of the cave. It led to a wide chamber of stone, surrounded with even more cobwebs.

At the center, there was a monster waiting for him.

A giant, deformed spider that glowed red. And at the top of its head, looking out of place, there was a woman.

Only her upper body was visible, as if her legs had melted and fused with the spider.

She wielded a long blade. It was sharp and wide, just like the smile she directed at Solaire.

She was not a defenseless maiden in need of his help. She was an abomination bent on opposing him and killing him.

Solaire would show her no mercy.

_But even if I am the biggest of failures and I was never worthy of being your friend, I promise I will fulfill your dream in your stead, Oscar. Your ambition shall become my one and only sun. I will become the Chosen Undead. This dream was never mine to have, and it fills me with no hope nor satisfaction... but what else can I do now?_

Solaire readied himself for battle. With his sword, shield and talisman in hand, he stepped inside the abomination’s domains.

The woman welcomed him with a fierce roar of the spider that was her lower body.

_What else can I cling to?_

This spider vomited a a wave of fire that rained upon Solaire.

Fire clashed with lighting.

Both energies negated each other existence’s and disappeared amidst a cloud of smoke. Under it, the blades of their casters touched for the first time.

* * *

The echoes of clashing steel, booming thunder, and burning fire could be heard in all their intensity in the Fair Lady’s concealed chamber, as if a storm was raging outside.

“Quelaag?”

“Don’t worry, my lady.” Eingyi caressed the back of her hand with his fingers. “Your sister will get rid of the interloper soon.”

His lady did seem a little comforted; not by his words, Eingyi knew, but by his touch.

He knew his voice couldn’t wholly reach her. The Fair Lady had lost most of her awareness of her surroundings long ago, and it all had been his fault.

She had saved him, and he had hurt her in return.

It had never been his intention, but Eingyi still carried the burden of his responsibility.

He raised his head as much as the infected lumps on his back allowed. He got only a small glance of the Lady, but it was more than enough to strengthen his resolve and his adoration for her.

It was a perfect sight, only ruined by the man clad in dark armor. He was standing next to the Lady. He held her other hand.

Eingyi tightened his grip on the Lady, and if he had been stronger and the Lady was capable of moving, he would have pulled her away from the knight of thorns.

Eingyi had never liked the man, not even if his love for the Lady seemed to be pure in nature and he dutifully fulfilled his duties as a Chaos servant.

Though he knew his antipathy was childish and unjustified, Eingyi did not feel bad about it. After all, it wasn’t as if the knight of thorns had ever showed him something else other than disdain and repulse.

Both sentiments had always been a constant on Eingyi’s life, even back in his old days when he had been a normal and healthy pyromancer.

Yet, cursed and deformed as he was now, with his body almost completely immobilized by the parasitic lumps that grew all over him, Eingyi had no regrets, and neither did he resent his fate.

He couldn’t, not when it had also granted him the chance to serve the Lady and become her most trusted guardian.

The Fair Lady made all his pain be worth it. And he, in return, would never stop fighting to make her suffering more bearable.

Even if he couldn’t fight for her, and even if his words couldn’t reach her, Eingyi would always remain by her side.

A scream filled the chamber just as Eingyi caressed the back of the Lady’s hand.

“My lady!” Eingyi cried, thinking it had been her who had screamed. He looked at her, almost breaking his neck in the process. “What’s wrong?”

“Quiet, you fool!” The knight of thorns ordered.

Eingyi glared at him, expecting more venomous insults to come his way, but the knight of thorns remained silent, his uncovered face gazing anxiously at the chamber’s entrance.

It didn’t take long for Eingyi to understand the reason behind his fear.

His breathing stopped, and he, the knight and the Lady remained frozen in a moment of silence that felt eternal.

“No... It cannot be.” Eingyi said under his breath, his heart sinking to the deepest ends of his chest. “Lady Quelaag.”

He and the knight of thorns waited for her to make a sound.

Lady Quelaag had always been aggressive, reserved and conceited, not only toward Eingyi, but to all humans that dared to enter her domain. The only mortals that had been blessed with some of her mercy were that strange man-eating woman and her sisters that lived in the Depths.

Eingyi had never fully understood the reason why, and he wasn’t foolish enough to ask her, though he suspected that, perhaps, it was because Lady Quelaag saw herself and her sisters in those crazed women, especially in the eldest.

_Your sisters meant the world for both of you._

Eingyi thought, a strange feeling of grief blooming from his heart when Lady Quelaag’s voice never sounded again.

For the first time ever since the Fair Lady had healed him from his infection and had sentenced herself to an eternity of misery, Eingyi wept.

“Oh, Lady Quelaag.” He whispered, pressing his forehead against the floor. “Lady Quelaag. How could this happen?”

_What kind of monster would do something like this?_

Eingyi held the hand of the Lady with both his hands.

For once, he felt glad the Fair Lady had little awareness of her reality, and that she remained spared from a truth that would break her heart.

“Quelaag? Is that you?” She said soothingly to Eingyi. “It’s alright, sister. You are here with me now.”

“My lady.” Eingyi stuttered amidst his sobs.

He would have spent hours in that same position had the knight of thorns not intervened.

“I’ll kill him.” He hissed as he hurriedly put on his helmet on and wielded his sword. He was shaking with frustration and anger. “He’ll pay for what he’s done!”

He would have rushed recklessly toward the chamber’s entrance had Eingyi not stopped him. He grabbed him by one of his greaves.

Metal thorns pierced his hand and made it bleed. The pain came close to making Eingyi scream; yet, his grip did not give.

“Let go of me.” The knight of thorns ordered, sounding more like a growling animal than a man. “Do it, or I’ll kill you too.”

“You are the Fair Lady’s servant.” Eingyi said. It was the first time he spoke to the knight with so much defiance. “We are his guardians! And I will not let you abandon your post and forsake your duty!”

“How dare you suggest I’m abandoning her?” The knight replied. “My life belongs to her, you miserable idiot! I will always protect her! My devotion is stronger than yours could ever be! That’s why I’ll go kill that man.”

The knight of thorns choked on his own words.

Eingyi lifted his eyes and looked at him. Though his face was now hidden behind his awful helmet, he knew exactly the emotions that were twisting his features underneath it.

“Quelaag’s killer.” The knight stated lowly, as if the Fair Lady could hear him talk. “He will die by my blade, just like he should have done in back in the sewers.”

Eingyi flinched at the last statement. He felt tempted to question the knight about it, but what truly urged him at that moment was to stop the knight from throwing his life away in a fit of anger.

“If you face him, you will die.” 

The knight stopped trying to free his leg and looked at Eingyi. He could feel his grey eyes fixed on him like anchors.

“Whoever this intruder is, he is powerful enough to have killed Lady Quelaag... a Witch of Chaos! You will be no match for him. He’s already killed you once.”

Eingyi swallowed, fearing his next sentence could be his last.

“He was the one who injured, wasn’t he?”

The knight of thorns remained silent. Eingyi was sure he would answer only with a slash of his sword.

“He caught me off guard.” The knight accepted, not humbly, but earnestly. “I was careless. This time, it will be me who—”

“Put aside that ridiculous honor you knights are so obsessed with and open your eyes already!” Eingyi exclaimed, feeling how his hand was going numb with pain.

He would not be able to stop the knight again if he decided to continue with his fool’s errand. He had to convince him at any cost, for the sake of the Fair Lady.

“Can’t you see you what you are putting at risk? If that man kills you, then who will protect her?”

Eingyi clenched his jaw and had no choice than to swallow to his pride and admit out loud a truth both him and the knight knew.

“I am no warrior; my own flame faded long ago. I cannot cast fire, I can’t fight with weapons. As strong as my devotion for the Lady is, my body is slow, sick and weak. If you go and get yourself killed, then the Fair Lady will have no one left to keep her safe! She has lost her sister, the only true family she had left. If she loses you too, she will have no one left to keep her from harm!”

Softly, he moved and pressed his forehead against the knight’s greave. without letting go of the Lady’s hand. The metal thorns prickled at the light contact, but they did not hurt him or made him bleed.

“Don’t do this to her, Kirk.” Eingyi said, speaking the knight’s name for the first time. “Be true to your duty, not to your pride. I understand you anger, your frustration, your pain... but it is not us we should worry about. It is her; right now, she needs us more than ever. She needs her servants.”

Kirk, with unexpected gentleness, removed his leg away from Eingyi’s face and hand.

Eingyi raised his head and stared at him without fear.

“She needs her knight.”

Kirk didn’t answer.

Then, as if she had heard the entire exchange, the Fair Lady reached a hand at his direction.

“Quelaag.” She spoke. “My dear sister.”

It was as if a spell had been casted on Kirk.

He dropped his sword and accepted the Lady’s hand. He fell to his knees, not without removing his helmet first.

Relieved, Eingyi thanked the Fair Lady in silence, for she had done the impossible and had convinced the knight to remain by her side.

_As will I. Worry not, Lady Quelaag._

He thought, wishing he could raise his head high enough to plant a kiss on his Lady’s hand.

_Your sister will be forever safe with us._

* * *

She had always been proud.

Her own sisters and brother, back in the times before they were transformed into abominations, had often reproached her about it.

Even her own mother had scolded her because of it, a fact that had always amused Quelaag to no end, considering her mother was twice as proud than she had ever been.

It had been her mother who had warned her of the perils such unmeasured arrogance could bring upon her and those she held dear.

A lesson that, apparently, neither of them had bothered to learn.

In her arrogance, her mother had caused the world and family nothing but misery; and now, Quelaag was repeating the same cycle.

In her arrogance, despite knowing well her newest opponent was stronger than any other Undead that had ventured into her domains, Quelaag had refused to accept the knight of thorns’ help.

Or maybe, had the knight been right, and she had grown weaker over time?

Both alternatives repulsed Quelaag, and even now she found it hard to accept either.

But whether it was true nor not, she had put her pride above everything else, even above the sake of her sister.

That alone filled her with more shame than the help of a human or the deterioration of her body could have done.

And now, she was dying, her life bleeding away from her body in the form of a hole in her stomach, left behind by a Lighting Spear she had failed to dodge.

_That curse lighting essence..._

Gwyn’s power and that of his prodigal son. It had always infuriated Quelaag how easily it overpowered her family’s fire.

To die at the hands of one of their deluded followers was the final insult that crowned her humiliating defeat.

The spider that was her lower body let out a final cry and perished. Grief for the creature came together with the dread of what its death implied.

She would die soon, and disappear from the world forever.

_Quelaan._

Quelaag imagined herself being at her sister’s side. There was much that had been left unsaid between them, and much she had never done to ease her sister's disgrace.

_Forgive me._

The Warrior of Sunlight stood before Quelaag. Without saying a word, he began to raise his sword.

Quelaag did not look at him. She knew her death couldn’t be stopped.

There was no escape from her fate.

The memory of her sister and the rest of her lost family came to her.

But it was Quelaan on whom Quelaag focused the most.

She saw her sister as she had once been.

Healthy, witty, talkative, energetic, free from all pain and sickness.

She looked at Quelaag and smiled.

It was the most precious thing Quelaag could have ever wished to see in the last moments of her life.

_My dear little sister._

The Warrior of Sunlight’s sword came swinging down.

* * *

_Look at you. Defeated yet again. What is your excuse this time, little human?_

“Fina.”

_My name sounds so vulgar when spoken by wretches like you. Rather than wearing it out as if you were a mindless parrot, you should have glorified it by proving you are worthy of me. But you, in your weakness, have brought me only shame. You refused to take the fire keeper’s souls; you claimed you loved me, yet you opposed my commands. You couldn’t even keep your pitiful promise of offering me Astoran Humanity. What a useless, pathetic excuse of a man you are._

“My lady... I—”

_Do not dare to ask me to forgive you, for I already have._

“What?”

_You have failed me in all possible ways, Lautrec... but I am not blind to the purity of your love for me. Your flawed incompetence has made me reconsider your worth as my knight, but your devotion has drawn me back to you; for in what you believed were your final moments, you thought of me._

“Of course I did. What else can a knight think of that isn’t his lady?”

_Not merely your lady. I am your goddess, and as your goddess, I have come back to you after hearing your last claim. Tell me, is it true, or was it only the empty declaration of a scared man? Are you really willing to make things right if I give you another chance?_

“I am. I will not contradict or fail you again. Just don’t leave me. Please, my lady. What am I without you?”

_I do not believe you, at least not yet. That’s why I’ll give you a chance to prove to me there is truth behind your words._

Lautrec came back to his senses. He took several deep breaths, as if he had just emerged from the deep of the ocean.

His body was broken, but he was still alive.

_Drink your Estus. Worry not, I shall aid you._

Slowly, Lautrec did as he was told. Even with his goddess’s help, it took a long while for his broken arm to reach his flask.

Fina only spoke to him once he had drunk it whole. Many of his injuries remained unhealed, the pain was still overbearing, and his hearing remained reduced to a muffled and distant screeching, but the most lethal wounds Solaire had caused on him were gone.

_Now rise, Lautrec._

Fina told him, her lips of silk brushing against his bleeding ear. She landed a kiss on it, brushing away the blood.

_Rise and prove you are a true knight of Fina._


	43. Time to let go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading/following/leaving kudos and to Mrs littletall for the comments!
> 
> This arc is coming to an end! Only 3 or 4 chapters left, and it will be, you guessed it, very angsty for everyone involved... I never give the characters a break, do I? 
> 
> In he meantime, I hope you like the chapter!

“It was overwhelming.”

Oscar raised his head.

The Undead laughed.

“Your pain, I mean.” They said. “How you could live with it, I do not dare to comprehend.”

_Neither do I._

Oscar thought.

The memory of the day when many of his fellow elite knights had perished, though still bleak and unpleasant, no longer hurt.

It had been reduced to a neutral remembrance Oscar felt nothing for.

Deep inside him, he resented the Undead for bastardizing his past. He had the right to hate them for what they had done to him, but he didn’t.

Though numb and empty, he felt relieved.

The Undead had taken a part of his pain, and by doing so, they had set Oscar free. It was a cold, unfulfilling freedom, but also much bearable that the constant sting of his guilt.

“That wasn’t all, was it?” The Undead asked. They were starting to get closer to him. “You still hold plenty of misery inside your heart.”

Oscar didn’t answer.

He was sure the Undead already knew his answer. There was no reason to pretend he was strong in their presence, not when they aware of what kind of man he truly was.

Oscar remembered the many times they had seen him succumbing to despair back at the Undead Asylum. Even now, he felt humiliated and ashamed of his reactions and his behavior.

_I gave up after my first defeat. I felt broken and hopeless. I wasn’t strong enough._

A gentle hand rested on his chest, right above his Darksign.

“I cannot take away my own pain.” The Undead confessed. “Trust me, I’ve just tried.”

They talked as if they were smiling.

“I don’t even know how I can do this, or why. And your pain... I do not like it. I thought I would, but it is too much for me. Pain has always been more than I can bear; that is the only certainty about my life and myself. That’s the reason why I don’t want to go back, Oscar. It is not that I believe there is no happiness or hope to be found in life. I know there is, and plenty of it. Your eagerness to fulfill your homeland’s prophecy, your love for your past and your present, the friendship you’ve formed with that man Solaire; all of this proves there are things of worth in the world, putrid and sick as it has become. I merely don’t have the strength to search for them myself.”

“I understand.” Oscar caressed the back of their hand with his thumb. “More than you imagine. Pathetic, isn’t it? Despite my bravado and all my claims of perseverance, I’m still a feeble fool who crumbles down at the first sight adversity. I am no different now than I was when we first met at the Asylum.”

The Undead chuckled humorlessly.

“Oh? Is that your subtle way of calling me a feeble fool, Oscar? I shouldn’t be surprised. If I recall correctly, you were fond of throwing insults at me. I think my favorite one was when you asked me if I was deaf, or if I couldn’t understand what you were saying because my brain was as rotten as my face.”

“I remember.” Oscar said, smiling despite his embarrassment. “I was not kind to you at all, was I?”

“You were difficult, and so damn stubborn.” The Undead admitted with good natured and feign reproach. “Then again, I wasn’t what you would call friendly either. You may not remember this, since you were still unconscious and recovering from the Humanity I infused you with, but... I kicked you in the leg after I laid you down in front of the Asylum’s bonfire. Not too hard, of course, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I left a bruise on you. And I also called you a few bad names in my head when I was carrying you and helping you walk. That cursed armor of yours sure is heavy.”

They laughed together.

There was no reason for them to do so, and the act alone felt like madness, but what else could they do amidst that unbreachable darkness?

_This is wrong, but it feels like nothing._

And nothingness felt good.

Or did it?

Oscar wasn’t sure anymore.

The Undead pressed their hand more firmly against his chest.

They both fell silent.

“Stay here with me, Oscar.” The Undead said. “I’ll take away all your pain from your memories. I’ll bear them for you, so you can be at peace. Don’t worry, even if they prove to be more than I can handle, I won’t go Hollow; I am already Hollow. What do you say? Does that sound good to you?”

The Undead asked bashfully, as if they were a child in the presence of the most fabled of knights.

“I know this dark seems hopeless, boring and consuming, but it is also peaceful and comforting. No one can harm us here. There are no feral Hollows, no curses, no prisons or solitude. Just us. Oh, and don’t worry about Kaathe. Despite his threats and his lofty attitude, this old serpent would never harm us for real. In here, we can simply exist and be at peace together. I couldn’t ask for a better fate than this.”

Oscar did not dismiss the offer immediately, as he knew he should have, and his traitorous heart found itself contemplating the eternity of peace the Undead had offered.

It would be, he thought, not so different than being truly dead.

He was so mesmerized by the possibility that he paid little attention to the revelation of the monster’s name, and to the growl the creature let out when it was pronounced out loud.

“Why?” he asked, “why do you care so much about me?”

He felt how the Undead slightly moved away from him. He knew they were taken aback, but Oscar didn’t stop. “Why am I so important to you?”

The Undead remained silent long enough to make Oscar think they wouldn’t answer.

“Because you saved me.” They finally said.

“You saved me, but I didn’t save you.” Oscar was glad the darkness concealed his expression. “I tried, and I failed. Undead, you gave your life for me. All I ever did for you was freeing you from a cell you never wanted to escape.”

“Oscar, remember what I told you after you asked me why I had come back for you, instead of leaving you behind? How I said it was because I was grateful to you for giving me another chance at life?”

The Undead moved their hand away from his chest.

“I don’t think I was completely honest with you. I was confused and scared; but being alone in this dark has given me time to think about what happened at the Asylum, and about how I truly felt when you freed me.”

The Undead grabbed Oscar’s hands.

“I didn’t care about my freedom at all. To be honest, neither did I care about your prophecy. I would have gladly done everything in my power to fulfill it in your stead, if you had Hollowed and I had lived, but only to honor your memory, not because I believed in it, or because I cared about the fate of the world. I am a rotten being, Oscar. I have lived longer than you imagine. I have no memories, no purpose, and I feel nothing. I am not the selfless Chosen Undead you think I am. I am just a selfish Hollow that doesn’t want to lose the one thing in their life that has showed them kindness.”

The Undead lifted Oscar’s hands to their forehead, in the same manner Oscar had done with them before.

“The only person that has made me feel truly at peace.”

“I cannot be the only person that was ever kind to you.” Oscar replied, starting to become aware of how tightly the Undead was holding his wrists. “If you have lived for as long as you claim, surely other people—”

“Perhaps; but if there were any, I don’t remember them.” The Undead stated. “Like I’ve said, I have no memories of my life; even my own name was lost to me long ago. I am aware of my past in the same way you would be aware of a dream. You know it happened, and you remember how it made you feel, or if it was pleasant or a nightmare... but the rest is silence. All I feel for my hazy past is pain, and the fervent wish that I had never been born.”

They let go of Oscar and returned their hand to his chest, not above his Darksign, but above his heart.

“But when I think of you looking down at me from the roof of my cell, or of the time when you gifted me your Estus flask, or when you fought the Hollows while trying to protect me, I feel safe and at ease. I feel as if my pathetic existence was worth it after all. And now that you are here with me...”

The Undead slid their palm swiftly to Oscar’s Darksign.

“I don’t want to lose this.” They said. Oscar couldn’t see them crying, but he could hear their tears. “I don’t want to feel like I felt before I met you. And I know you don’t want to feel your pain anymore either. If you stay here, everything will be alright for both of us. That’s why—”

Oscar could feel them starting the same process they had carried out in their shared dream. Forcefully, Oscar held them by their wrist and forearm, prompting them to stop.

“I am sorry, my friend.” He told them. “For being as cold as I was when you tried to help me; for treating you as a tool, as a mindless failsafe and not as a human being, for not once thinking of all these burdens you kept hidden inside you heart. I’m sorry.”

The Undead sobbed out loud

“But I can’t let you do this.” Oscar put away Undead’s hand away from him before they could try to stop him. “Ever since I left the Asylum and arrived at Lordran, I have longed to be at peace with myself, but I can’t. I am always doubting my actions, and for every small victory I achieve, I make two awful mistakes that hurt others. My emotions and regrets overwhelm me, and I constantly wish to escape my present and go back to my past and be the man I used to be.”

“I know.” The Undead said anxiously. “That’s why I want you to stay here with me. That way, none of that will hurt you anymore.”

“I can’t just run away from my life.” Oscar said under his breath. “As painful or difficult as it has become, I must... No, I want to live it, while I still have the chance. I still have a purpose, a reason to live. I cannot let you reduce me to an emotionless shell. That’s not what I want to be.”

_I want to live._

The wish burned inside his chest, almost like a bonfire.

“I want to be me.” Oscar said more to himself than to the Undead. “With all the pain that it implies. I don’t want to lose more of myself than I already have.”

_I want to live._

Desperation and determination filled his body.

He would escape that prison. He would punch the creature’s disgusting teeth until they became dust.

He would struggle and endure.

He would not give up now.

“I want to live.”

He would be free.

Before Oscar had the chance to put his plan in motion, the Undead intervened.

“Why?” The Undead hissed with rage. Their disappointment was toxic, and it dripped from their voice like venom. “Why are you so damn stubborn? Can’t you see that all you’ll gain by going back to life is going Hollow? You’ll lose yourself and then you’ll die for good! Is that what you want, Oscar? You stupid knight!”

The Undead growled in frustration and tried to grab Oscar by the shoulders. Oscar raised his hands in self-defense, locking them with the Undead’s.

They struggled, neither conceding an inch.

The Undead was strong.

It wasn’t until then that Oscar became aware of how abnormally strong they truly were.

They always had been, he realized.

Despite their meager and rotten body, the Undead had managed to carry him at the Asylum with his armor on, all while bearing almost his entire weight on their shoulders.

And now, they were dangerously close to overcome him.

Oscar’s numb feelings were ignited again by the horror he felt at what would happen to him if the Undead wasn’t stopped.

“Shut up, Kaathe!” The Undead shouted, their voice pitching so high it became distorted. “This doesn’t concern you, you damn worm! I don’t care if I’m being too loud! All I care about is making sure Oscar doesn’t make an awful mistake!”

The Undead lost all semblance of sanity and threw themselves at Oscar.

Oscar screamed as the violent lunge made his elbows and shoulders crack, almost breaking them. He managed to put a foot on the Undead’s belly and kick them away.

The Undead departed from him, and Oscar could tell by the awful sound that followed that they had crashed violently against the creature’s teeth.

He heard the sound of bones breaking, and he wondered in dread if he had snapped the Undead’s neck.

He came close to feeling regret for what he had done, but he soon forgot about it when the Undead attacked him again.

The darkness hindered them both equally, but the reduced space of the creature’s mouth allowed for their blind attacks to land on each other most of the time.

Unlike Oscar, who fought defiantly to protect himself, the Undead was hellbent on getting their hand back on his Darksign.

The Undead moved and squirmed out of control like a feral animal, ignoring the injuries they caused to themselves in their madness, just as easily as they ignored the wounds Oscar inflicted on them.

“Oscar!” The Undead screamed after finally managing to wrap an arm around Oscar’s shoulders. They pulled him closer to them in an unbreakable embrace, all while their other hand desperately made its way to his Darksign.

Oscar intercepted their hand by the wrist when it was right above his belly.

“I am going to save you!” The Undead roared in frustration. They dug their fingers into Oscar’s stomach. Their nails were like daggers, and they mercilessly clawed at Oscar’s scar, the same they had left on him after stabbing him with the coiled sword. “Just like you saved me!”

Oscar screamed in pain. His armor and chainmail were of little help against the Undead’s savage motions and relentless pressure. It didn’t take long for Oscar to feel how the friction of his chainmail against his scar began to tear it open, peeling back the tender skin as if it was paper.

Blinded by agony and the need to save his life, Oscar stopped seeing the Undead as his friend and savior. They became a threat, an enemy that would kill him or reduce him to an emotionless shell if they weren’t stopped.

Without pity or mercy, he gathered all his energy and managed to get a firmer grip of the Undead’s wrist. Then, he twisted it until it cracked. He felt and heard the snap of their tendons and bones.

The Undead raised their head and cried. Not even when the Hollows had tortured them and ripped their arm off had they screamed as they did now.

Oscar shut his eyes tight, wishing he could deafen his ears; but he didn’t let go of the Undead.

“Oscar!”

“ENOUGH OF THIS!”

The ominous voice of the creature was only the beginning of what felt like a new nightmare. It granted Oscar his wish and deafened him, disrupting his mind in the process as well.

When he came back to his sense, the Undead no longer was close to him, and the suffocating darkness of the creature’s mouth had been replaced by a new, thicker dark. Oscar felt as if he was drowning in a sea of ink where nothing made sense and nothing truly existed.

The infinite vastness of it, and the absence of all shape, sound, texture and color would drive him to absolute madness if he remained there for long.

All that felt real, beside the burning pain on his scar, was the feeling of liberation that came with the Undead’s absence.

They were gone, and so was the monster that had kept them both captive.

Oscar was free.

Free to go back to his life.

_I still exist._

Oscar thought as his Darksign burned with comforting warmth, nothing like the paralyzing coldness the Undead had caused him whenever they rested their hand on it.

_I still am._

Soon, he would be reborn from the bonfire’s ashes. He would be back to his existence and be free to continue his journey and rejoin Solaire.

Oscar smiled with hope for the first time since he had arrived at that abyss. The memory of his friend was like a sun amidst the darkness.

_I’m going back._

He would soon be by his side. He had made him wait long enough.

“Stop!”

Oscar was abruptly taken away from his reverie when a desperate hand grabbed him by the ankle and refused to let go. His Darksign stopped burning on his chest, and Oscar found himself anchored once more to that horrible pit of dark.

Oscar looked down with his teeth bared in anger. He saw the Undead.

Their appearance hadn’t changed at all, but their face, so stoic and collected back at the Asylum, was now a grimace distorted by madness and despair, as if they were a Hollow whose mind was not clouded by anger or fear, but by grief.

“Don’t leave me.” They pleaded, their voice ringing with an eloquence that didn’t match their deplorable appearance. “Please.”

Their words pierced through Oscar’s anger and disarmed it. Yet, as much as his heart bled for the Undead, Oscar no longer felt the compassion or fondness he had felt for them before.

He would never forget all they had done for him.

But he wouldn’t allow them to hurt him again.

_I’m sorry._

Oscar thought as he began to kick away the Undead’s fingers with his other foot. He did so roughly, and the Undead cried in both frustration and pain with each kick.

Oscar didn’t regret what he was doing, but he did lament that was how everything between them had ended.

“I don’t—” The Undead whimpered, clinging to Oscar as he was about to escape their hold. “I don’t want to be alone again.”

“LET HIM GO, HOLLOW!”

The whiff of the creature’s breath and the shockwave of its monstrous voice deprived Oscar and the Undead from their strength.

Still, the Undead refused to let Oscar go.

It took a moment for Oscar’s mind to become whole again. When his sight came back, he was welcomed by the awful vision of an abomination.

A gigantic, hideous serpent with glowing orange eyes kept the Undead in place by trapping one of their feet between its yellowish teeth.

“I ONLY ALLOWED THAT MAN TO REMAIN HERE BECAUSE I THOUGHT HE WOULD MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER. I WAS A FOOL! LOOK AT WHAT HE’S DONE TO YOU! HE’S DRIVEN YOU TO THE EDGE OF MADNESS. HE SHALL REMAIN BY YOUR SIDE NO LONGER!”

The Undead ignored the serpent’s claims.

Instead, they looked at Oscar.

“LET HIM GO.” The serpent spoke without moving its mouth. “OR I SWEAR I’LL DEVOUR HIM BEFORE YOUR EYES AND EREASE HIM FROM EXISTANCE.”

“No!” The Undead shook their head. “You promised... you promised me you wouldn’t hurt him!”

“HURT HIM?” The serpent scoffed in disdain. “AS IF YOU HADN’T DONE SO ALREADY.”

“I didn’t.” The Undead opened their empty eyeholes and fixed them on Oscar. “I would never!”

Their gazes met in the same way they had done back at the Asylum, when Oscar had thrown into their cell a corpse with the key to their freedom.

Oscar saw how drops of his blood fell on the Undead’s face. Instinctively, he put a hand on the reopened scar on his belly and groaned in pain.

“I...” The Undead’s voice trembled as much as their fingers. Slowly, the pressure of their grip around Oscar’s ankle began to fade. “I just wanted—"

The echo of a tolling bell swallowed the rest of their sentence. It spread across the eternity of the abyss like thunder.

The metallic echoes were still ringing in all their intensity when the Undead finally let Oscar go.

Whether they had released him by their own volition, or because the toll of the bell had made them flinch, was something Oscar never discovered.

“Undead.”

Oscar said as his body began to fade away from the darkness. He ignored the growling serpent that filled the abyss with its infectious breath and focused solely on the Undead.

Then, the abyss and the darkness that surrounded him disappeared, and with it, the serpent and the Undead.

“Chosen Undead.”

Oscar said to himself, unaware he was already lying on his chest inside an empty chamber. Behind him, the bonfire from which ashes he had risen flickered and crackled.

He had an arm warped around his stomach. It was already soaked with his blood.

It was that same pain which made Oscar react. He gasped, filling his lungs with his first breath of real air since his death.

He could feel the dampness and coldness of the floor on his cheek; he could smell the stench of the sewers nearby; he could taste the blood in his mouth: he could hear his own heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

He could see a glowing message written on the wall.

_I’m alive._

It was only a thought a first, but soon it became a realization.

Despite all that had happened and the pain of his damaged scar, Oscar smiled.

* * *

_I’ve done it._

Solaire let go of the lever and stood up. The bell tolled loudly above him, almost painfully so for his ears.

The bell’s song travelled across the outside world.

Could the fire keeper at Firelink Shrine hear it?

Could Siegmeyer, Andre, Griggs and pardoner Oswald? Or even Petrus and Reah?

If they did, what did it make them feel?

Solaire could only hope that whatever emotion the tolling of the bell awakened in their hearts, it was more powerful and comforting that the emptiness inside him.

He had believed things would become clearer once the bell tolled, but nothing had changed. He remained lost and alone, clinging to a purpose that was never meant to be his.

_Oscar._

The grief for his friend clashed with the dissapointment he felt for his own failed quest.

Solaire had made a promise to Oscar, and he would not give up until he had fulfilled it; but the bleakness of his world deprived Solaire of all enthusiasm.

There would be no joy nor fulfillment in his journey. It would be an emotionless crusade paved with destruction, chaos and violence.

Perhaps, Solaire thought, that was all his life as an Undead was ever meant to be. His friendship with Oscar had merely deluded him into believing he could find happiness in Lordran.

_This land is not a place of opportunities and new beginnings._

Solaire turned his back on the lever and started walking towards the entrance. He wondered if the corpse of the abomination would still be in that chamber, or if she had already faded into nothingness, as it happened to all the Undead every time they perished.

_This is the land of failure and death._

The toll of the bell came to a stop.

Silence never truly fell upon Solaire and his surroundings.

Instead, the echo of a gentle chiming replaced the bell’s roaring toll.

Solaire halted his steps.

He turned around as he unsheathed his sword. He found no enemy waiting for him behind his back; for a second, Solaire felt tempted to believe his mind and ears had tricked him.

He walked toward the first step of the circular stairs near the lever and waited for the sound to repeat itself.

Truth was that he had no desire to inspect the lower floor.

He cared not about what could be lurking around those unexplored areas.

All he wanted was to leave behind that curse and sickened place forever.

He was relieved when nothing but silence came from below the stairs. Solaire was about to sheathe his sword and disregard the whole incident as one of his imaginings when he heard another sound.

It was a voice.

A woman’s; it was feeble and faint, like the whisper of a moribund.

Solaire couldn’t understand what she had said. It was possible the woman had said nothing at all, and she had simply let out a groan of misery and despair.

Solaire tried desperately to steel his heart and ignore her.

The last time he had fallen for such tricks, it had costed Oscar his life, and for all he knew, that woman could be as dangerous and ruthless as the man-eating maniac of the Depths.

It would be wise and pertinent to leave her to her fate.

Even if that meant abandoning her as she died alone and in fear, perhaps even tortured by ruffians or the other abominations that dwelled in those hellish domains.

Solaire’s heart dropped to his feet.

The thought was meant to strengthen his resolve and silence his feelings, not to ignite the last shards of compassion that refused to fade away from his soul.

He despised his weak, tender heart. When he looked back on his life, Solaire could see that kindness and compassion had seldom earned him something else that wasn’t mockery or abuse.

Perhaps the crestfallen and Lautrec had been right about him all along, and he was indeed an idiot for believing such traits were proper of a knight, even less an Undead one.

_I am still an idiot._

Solaire wielded his sword again.

He then began to step down the stairs.

He couldn’t ignore his nature, pathetic as it was, but neither he would show mercy on the woman if it all turned out to be an evil machination.

_But even an idiot learns from his mistakes._

He reached the lower floor, expecting to find the woman and her attackers.

He found nothing, only a room almost identical to the one above. The only difference was the entrance at the other side of a chamber.

Wherever it led, Solaire could tell it was a hellhole in no way better than Blighttown and the Depths. The stench and heat that emanated from the entrance was identical to the fire of the woman-spider chimera he had slain.

If Solaire ventured inside that path, would he enter her homeland?

It was a question that he had no desire to answer.

“Is someone there?”

He asked, though it sounded more like a threat than a question.

Deep down, he knew he should have mellowed his tone; otherwise, he would be ruining all the chances of earning the potentially innocent woman’s trust. His poor, shabby appearance was already dreadful enough to scare her away immediately.

The least he could do was to try to sound trustworthy and gentle. Solaire knew all this, but he couldn’t find the energy to try or care.

“Answer me.” Solaire demanded coldly. “If you are injured, I’ll help you get out of this place and heal your wounds. If you aren’t, and this is some sort of trick, then stay wherever you are and don't try anything. Or else I’ll kill you.”

The undertone in his voice rang with a ruthlessness that sounded unfamiliar even to himself. Solaire came close to regretting his harshness and cruelty, and he wished with all his heart he still was the compassionate knight he had been before Oscar’s death.

But that man was gone.

_This is who I must become now. Otherwise, I will not survive in this godforsaken land._

“If you don’t answer, I will leave you behind.” Solaire said, shocked at how much effort it took to keep his voice aloof and strict.

He waited, hoping that the woman would make another sound. He wished that she was in honest need of his help. The least he wanted was to spill more blood, even if it was from abominations or deranged enemies.

_No, don’t think like that. That’s weak._

Solaire swallowed. He prepared his sword and shield in case an incoming surprise attack came his way. He would attack to kill, not to defend himself.

_Become the knight and man Lordran demands you to be._

Carefully, he looked around the chamber, in case the woman was hidden in a small spot somewhere.

“Then, I will take my leave.” Solaire announced after inspecting the right side of the chamber. “If this was some kind of trap, don’t try to follow me. If you are not lying or trying to deceive me, then you can follow me, but make sure you warn me of your presence first so that I—”

His tongue became stuck to his palette when his gaze found a sunlight medal incrusted in the middle of a portion of the left wall.

It was a strange sight, but also painful in a nostalgic way. To see the rewards offered by his former covenant in that place, without any logical purpose or reason for it to be there, felt like a personal offense to Solaire.

It was as if Gwyn’s firstborn was mocking him, as if he had come to Solaire in his time of despair just to casually remind him he was a Warrior of Sunlight no more, and that he would never have the right to possess or share those warm medals again.

Lured by curiosity and anger, Solaire approached the wall where the sunlight medal was. Once he was right in front of it, Solaire proceeded to raise his sword.

He would descale it off the wall with a single slash of his sword. Then, he would continue to attack it until it broke into pieces and the sun on the surface became nothing but shattered rubble.

He would do the same with the sun on his shield as soon as he could, even if that meant rubbing it against a rock. He would get rid of all the ridiculous crests and images that associated him with a covenant he no longer belonged to.

A covenant that had only earned him the mockery and derision of others, especially of the elite knights.

How they had laughed at Solaire when he, in his stupidity, had intercepted a group of them in the streets to show them his brand-new tunic, shield and talisman. Solaire had been so proud of himself as he told them the painted sun on his possessions was his own work.

They all had laughed at him in unison.

**_“Praise the Sun for us, Solaire!”_ **

One of them had exclaimed just a Solaire had been about to leave, disappointed and disgraced.

**_“Praise it! You wouldn’t want the treacherous son of Lord Gwyn to be mad at you, would you? Go on! Praise the Sun! Praise it! Praise it for us!”_ **

The commoners had joined the elite knights in their mocking chorus. Solaire had been mortified, but he had forced himself to smile and play along.

How pitiful he had been.

How pathetic and weak.

Tears of fury pricked at the corners of his eyes as he lunged down his sword, hoping the blade would destroy that memory together with the sunlight medal.

_That idiot is dead. This is the new me. The version of myself I always should have been!_

His sword hit the medal and send it crashing to the floor. It bounced thrice before finally stopping in the middle of a new corridor that manifested before Solaire’s eyes.

Baffled by the vision, Solaire took a step back. It took him a moment to understand what had happened.

Somehow, his sword had not only freed the medal from the wall, it had also made said wall vanish into thin air.

When he thought about it, Solaire had no recollection of feeling any resistance clashing against his blade. It was as if the wall had never existed, as if it had only been—

_An illusion._

He gazed at the chipped sunlight medal. It laid unceremoniously on the dirty ground; his blade had left on it a diagonal scar that cut the carved sun in half.

Solaire, determined to complete his mission of destroying it, was about to step forward into the hidden corridor when he heard the echo of metallic steps.

His attention was snatched from the medal in an instant and redirected to the armored man at the other side of the corridor.

The knight of thorns gazed at him in silence from underneath his helmet. Like Solaire, he wielded his shield and sword.

Solaire’s entire world fell apart.

A burst of emotions rushed through his body and mind, unleashing a rage within him so overwhelming that he couldn’t process it at first.

His pulse beat of control, his jaw and neck tensed until his tendons almost ripped apart, his mouth became bitter with bile.

The scar in his heart was clawed open, and from it, boiling grief and fury began to flow.

“You.” Solaire hissed through his clenched and bared teeth. His face and chest quivered at every breath he took.

His knuckles went white as his fingers gripped the handles of his weapons with uncontained force.

The knight of thorns gave him no time to say or think anything else. Without warning, he rushed at Solaire.

“I´ll kill you.” Solaire growled under his breath. The memory of Oscar’s corpse on his arms infected his mind with murderous intent.

Solaire did not wait for the knight of thorns to get any closer. He stomped at his direction and, after swiftly retrieving his talisman from his belt, he threw a roaring Lighting Spear at Oscar’s murderer.

The knight of thorns halted his march and blocked the miracle with his prickly shied.

The spear did not manage to break through his defense, but Solaire took advantage of the distraction and delivered a stab of his sword on the murderer’s exposed stomach.

The knight of thorns recovered and moved out of the way before Solaire’s attack could land. He jumped back to regain his balance, but he immediately charged at Solaire again, as if he was more focused on keeping Solaire from reaching the chamber at the other side of the corridor rather than killing him.

Solaire could only imagine the awful things the murderer was trying to keep him away from.

What was he hiding?

A grotesque collection of Humanities and loot he had plundered from his victims?

Tortured hostages he kept captive for his own twisted amusement?

“Quelaag.” A voice said. It came from behind the knight of thorns.

_The woman._

Solaire’s disgust blazed as much as his anger; the hatred he felt for the knight of thorns burned inside him, searing close the scar in his heart and replacing the pain with bloodlust.

“I’ll kill you!”

The threat was cemented by a new clash of their swords and followed by the gentle whispers of the woman.

This time, she remained unheard by the knight of thorns and Solaire.

* * *

They didn’t know for how long they had been sailing the darkness. Their aimless wandering had begun shortly after the tolling of the bell had resonated across the abyss.

Just as Oscar had left their hands, Kaathe had let go of their trapped foot between his teeth.

Maybe Kaathe had tried to catch them afterwards.

Maybe he hadn’t.

The Hollow didn’t know.

They did remember hearing Kaathe roar like a mindless beast, followed by the strange thumping sounds of what appeared to be a fight.

Had Kaathe been so frustrated by the tolling of the bell and their behavior, that he had lost his mind and had hurt himself in retaliation?

The Hollow wondered, but truth was that they had little interest in what had become of Kaathe.

They couldn’t see him anywhere.

He was gone, just like Oscar.

Just thinking of him made the Hollow wish they could go back and time and stope themselves from hurting him.

_I ruined it._

The Hollow curled up and hug their legs against their chest.

Their wandering was put to an end by a serpent. The Hollow softly clashed against the cold and slimy skin of Kaathe’s face.

They lifted their head and stared at him without emotion.

“I ruined everything.” They said, knowing well that Kaathe would offer no words of comfort.

Kaathe did not answer.

Of course.

After all they had done, it was only natural he was furious at them.

“I’m sorry.” The Hollow ventured.

_Will you abandon me as well?_

Kaathe, still silent, opened his mouth and devoured the Hollow whole.

“Thank you.” The Hollow said, not realizing how much they had missed the safe confines of Kaathe’s mouth until they found themselves inside it again.

They allowed their curled body to rest on the warm tongue of the serpent. They thought they felt a small difference in its texture.

The Hollow dismissed the idea and surrendered to fatigue.

“It won’t happen again.” The Hollow closed their eyes. “I promise.”

Kaathe did answer this time; not by giving them a spoken reply, but by propelling them from his tongue to his half-opened teeth.

The Undead barely had time to realize what was happening before Kaathe clenched his jaw shut. The force of the bite destroyed one of their arms and legs.

Without pause or an explanation, Kaathe chewed at the Hollow again.

And again.

Each bite shredded their body more into pieces, as if they were a piece of meat on a starved man’s mouth.

_Why?_

The Hollow thought.

_Why?_

But they knew why.


End file.
